He knew a brush-off when he saw one. He nodded, then slouched sadly away through the hubbub in the corridor. I slid down the wall to the floor and, elbows on knees, settled in to wait.

I think I slept. I must have, ’cause I started and glared up stupidly when I felt someone nudge my foot. Doc Lee, the chief medic, regarded me with tired sympathy.

I scrambled up, shaking out my stiffness. “How is he? Can I see him?”

Doc Lee shook his silver head. “I don’t think that would be wise.” His gaze followed a whimpering Macy passing by on a stretcher. “We sent to Empire to see if they had a ventilator. They do not.”

“He’ll want to see me,” I pleaded. “Really he will.”

“I know this is hard to hear, but there’s no way around it. It’s too late. We’ve . . . lost him.”

“What? You’ve what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re saying he’s . . .”

He clasped his hands at his waist and nodded. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

“No! It can’t be! He’s been through bad stuff with his malaria before!”

“A new bug this time. And pneumonia. He lacked the strength to fight it and . . .” His chin dropped, the age-old healer’s outrage pulsing in his jaw. “We didn’t have what we needed to help him. I am so very sorry.”

I slid back down the wall. The floor was a lot harder than a moment ago.

“Can I send for a friend? Someone?”

And who could that be? Jenn gone off the wall, Jake out on orders, everyone so busy?

Rubio. Dead? How could he be?

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I buried my head in my arms. “I’ll . . . I’ll . . . be fine. I’ll just . . . sit here a while, okay?”

“It would be better if . . .”

“Please! Just leave me alone!”

Doc Lee gave a quiet, dubious grunt. Then he turned and went back inside.

THIRTY-FOUR

Don’t know how long I sat there. Time wasn’t exactly on my mind as I struggled to accept Rubio’s death, and learn how to be without my friend, my anchor in the den, my guide in the post-Abel learning curve. Father, brother, and friend, all rolled into one prickly, fractious being. Who was I without him?

Grief so far had to do with the past, with Abel, with the loss of my family, my identity. Felt mostly in retrospect. Never like this. Never so . . . immediate.

Of course I’d imagined him dying. Stupid not to, with his bad health and all. I’d imagined the drama: Glimmer, the queen of his funeral at sea, keening and moaning, ranting about how I’d warned him about his crazy mulishness and rogue behavior. But I never took it for a real possibility.