He comes awake instantly, brushing the bag off and glaring at me. He stretches, glances at the mattress-covered window, and then stands. “Time to move,” he says without preamble and opens the door.

I tense, leaping to my feet. My muscles are stiff and tired from the long night, but I ignore the ache. “What the hell? You have to check for Beings first!” I hiss, eyes wide.

He glances back at me. “If there’s a Being in the hall, it’s going to kill us whether or not I check for it.”

Which is true, but unhelpful.

I follow him cautiously. Several nearby doors are open, spilling enough muted gray light for us to see in the hallway. Elliott steps around an empty gurney that’s pushed up against the wall and then disappears through another door. It’s a bathroom. After a moment, I hear the squeak of a faucet turning on and then the sound of running water. Apparently the plumbing still works here, at least.

I start after him. My still-damp shoes squelch with each step. I sigh, wishing we could stumble upon some fresh clothing or a miraculously working dryer. Or a coffeemaker, while I’m wishing for impossible things; my eyes are grainy with fatigue, and my brain feels disconnected and floaty from lack of sleep.

“Keep your eyes down,” Elliott calls to me, his voice tense. “I’m pretty sure there’s a mirror above the sink.”

I hesitate—but then look down at myself. Spots of Ginger’s blood are still flecked all over my arms. Some of it stains my shirt and pants, too, and there’s not much I can do about that, but I’m suddenly desperate to wash off as much of it as possible. I edge inside the bathroom, careful to keep my gaze on the white tiles beneath my feet.

Ten minutes later, we’ve both freshened up as best we can and, despite me making it blindingly obvious how difficult it is for me to maneuver with bound hands, Elliott hasn’t offered to help me get out of the zip ties.

He’s going to make me ask. “Fine,” I snap as we exit the bathroom. “Are you going to show me how to do that move you did to get out of these, or what?”

He strides ahead, ducking into another patient room. There’s a shuffling noise and then he comes out with a blanket over one shoulder and a long extension cord looped around the other. “No,” he answers, nodding at my hands. “I like this better.”