Sniveling, Claire dumped the chocolate shake over the hot fries, smearing into the mess. She gorged, sniffing and frowning, devouring what to Shepherd looked absolutely disgusting as if it were manna from the heavens. By the time she had finished what had to be the unhealthiest thing on the planet, her brief blubbering was over and she felt much better.

Wiping her mouth, Claire looked to the man who’d observed her meal. It was obvious Shepherd wanted her to thank him—he had done something nice for her, something apparent and obvious that she had requested specifically. All those other months, she had defiantly used none of his things outside of mere necessity, never made requests aside from demands of freedom… simply to make the point that she was refusing his hospitality. But this meal she had blatantly stated she desired, and he had delivered it, though it was clearly something he had not thought was best for her. In his strange language it was almost as if, again, he was affirming there was a new precedent and that he was making an effort.

Looking down at the remaining melted mess on her plate, Claire took a deep breath and breathed it out. “Thank you.”

The tray was scooted aside before a large hand came to her face and turned it up. His thumb rubbed away a missed smear of chocolate, Shepherd very pleased. “You are welcome.”

She did not want to look into those impossible eyes, but he held her in thrall. Claire was lost as she measured how many deaths stuck to him, how many appalling things he’d done of which she hoped never to learn. Why did he have to have a tragic history that haunted her sleep, and how had he become so distorted he’d developed into the harbinger of Thólos’ apocalypse?

Why was she even thinking of all that shit?

Shepherd gave her time, taking in her confused expression as she confessed, “I dreamed of your Undercroft, and I was trapped with the prisoners reaching for me through the bars… while I was being raped like you said.”

Elbow resting on the table, he cupped her cheek and purred, “It was only a dream. You are safe here and will never endure the Undercroft.”

She sniffed, lost in the quicksilver changefulness of those damn eyes. “What’s it like?”

Unsure exactly how much he should disclose, Shepherd said, “Dark, cold. The prisoners eat the mold on the walls. There is no sewage system. In the tunnels it is easy to get lost… many go missing. As a child, an inmate told me those tunnels span the entire continent of Antarctica. They go on for ages; you walk and walk, and never find a way out. But you do find the bones of others who’ve gone mad searching the paths only to die from lack of water or starvation.”