“Calm down, Piper,” he soothes. “Breathe deeply.”

I take a deep breath and relax my grip on Evan’s hands as my lungs fill with oxygen.

“Good.” He lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around my back.

This is rather intimate, but he’s not doing it because he wants anything to happen between us. This is support. He’s doing everything he can to make this as easy on me as it can be. I really, really appreciate it. Being strong and upbeat all the time is exhausting; it’s nice to be taken care of the way we take care of Lucie and Hazel.

I hold on to Evan and press my face into his strong chest.

The light switches on with a loud thud and floods the room. It’s bright. It’s impossibly bright, and my eyes are closed and buried in Evan’s T-shirt.

“Evan,” I whisper. The light burns, my eyes sting, my skin prickles.

His body tenses, and he bows his head against my shoulder. “I know.” His fingers dig into my back. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I couldn’t open them if I wanted to. The light burns as it is.

“It’s too much,” I whimper. My throat is dry from the heat the light is giving off, my head pounding from the brightness.

Evan’s knees give out, and he takes me to the floor with him. We don’t let go of each other. I’m scared to move because I know it will only get worse if nothing is shielding my eyes.

They’ve cut the lights four times already today, and they’ve been doing it for days. Each time it comes back on, it’s like being hit by the sun.

“You’ve got this, Piper,” he whispers.

I don’t know how I would have done this alone. I thought it would be better than the noise and heat, but it’s not. It’s so much worse.

The lights go out again, and we’re cloaked in darkness. It offers only a small amount of comfort. The damage has been done; my head pounds so hard, it hurts to blink. I need some pills and water. Nothing else will help now.

“How long have we been in here?” I whisper.

“Hours,” he replies.

It feels like weeks.

“How long is it usually?” I ask as the light clicks. I hold my breath, but this time it doesn’t hurt. The light is dim, like it was when we first came in.

Evan looks up at the same time as I do, both of us squinting our eyes. “It’s over,” he says. “And that was about how long it lasts most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” I ask.

“Sometimes it’s longer,” he replies. “Don’t think of that now. Come on.”

Pushing to his feet, he offers me his hand.