“I don’t want you to endanger the poor man,” he said caustically. “You put everyone around you in jeopardy. And how vain of you to assume he wants you to come looking for him. Some things are forgotten for good reason. Shame, guilt…embarrassment.”

Infuriated, I stood, not believing this. This was a power play for him. A damned power play and nothing more. He knew I wanted to know, so he wouldn’t tell me.

My fingertips were tingling, and unable to stop myself, I reached for him.

Trent moved, scrambling up and behind his chair so fast I almost didn’t see. “Touch me,” he said grimly, the chair between us, “and I’ll have you in an I.S. cell before your head stops spinning.”

“Rachel,” came a raspy voice from the upper level, and both Trent and I turned.

It was Quen, wrapped in a blanket as if it was a death shroud, the black-haired intern at his side, supporting him. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and I could see him wavering as he stood there. “Don’t touch Trenton,” he said, his gravelly voice clear in the hush, “or I’m going to have to come down there…and smack you around.” He was smiling at me, but his face lost its pleasure and gratitude as he turned to Trent. “This is petty of you, Sa’han. Far…beneath your dignity…and standing,” he finished breathily.

I reached out as his knees buckled and the intern sagged under the sudden deadweight.

“My God, Quen,” Trent whispered. Shock on his face, he looked at me. “You let me think he was dead!”

My mouth dropped open, and I took a step back. “I, uh…I’m sorry,” I finally managed, chagrin warming my face. “I never said he was dead. I forgot to tell you he was alive is all. You assumed he was dead.”

Trent turned his back on me and started for the stairs. “Jon!” he shouted, taking them two at a time. “He made it! Jon, get out here!”

I stood alone in the middle of the floor; Trent’s voice echoed against the silent walls with hope and joy, making me feel like an outsider. A door down the hall thumped open and Jon ran down the open walkway to where the intern was lowering Quen—out cold again—to the floor. Trent had already reached him, and the excitement and caring flowing from them hit me deep.

Not even aware I was there, they carried him back to his room and the comfort they shared. I was alone.

I had to get out of here.

My pulse quickened, and I scanned the room, the dregs of the party seeming to soak into me like a stain. I had to leave. I had to talk to my mom.