His mouth had curled up at the edges, and he’d leaned in closer. “Have you been to the sea before?”

“Once,” Kiva had answered. “My father took me.”

Jaren had misread the emotion flooding her face. “I bet he’s out there waiting for you. Get through these Trials, and you’ll be free to see him again.”

“No,” Kiva had replied softly, “I won’t.”

Tipp had skipped into the infirmary then, something for which Kiva had been incredibly grateful after the poppymilk finally wore off.

It took a whole week before she began to feel more like herself again. With every day that passed, she grew more and more uneasy. At first, it had just been a restless desire to get out of bed, since Kiva was used to taking care of patients, not being one herself. As time went on, however, she began to struggle with her inaction, especially when Tilda remained unresponsive and an increasing number of prisoners kept falling victim to the stomach virus that was going around. Leaving Olisha and Nergal in charge of their care didn’t fill Kiva with confidence, with the pair doing the least work possible to treat the sick—while keeping their distance to lessen the risk of catching the virus themselves. It frustrated her to no end every time she had to remind them to check on Tilda or the quarantined patients, knowing that without her pushing, they would do nothing.

If not for Tipp, Kiva would have been pulling her hair out. Jaren, too, had been an unexpected helper, especially since he found an excuse to visit the infirmary every day, both before and after his work shifts, always under the guise of collecting various remedies for his fellow tunnelers. Even though prisoners were allowed to move freely within the walls of Zalindov outside of their labor hours, Kiva still thought he was spending an excessive amount of time in the infirmary. Whenever Naari was stationed at the door, she almost always rolled her eyes at Jaren’s arrival, clearly aware that he was just making up reasons to check in on Kiva.

Glaringly obvious or not, Kiva made sure to put Jaren to work, both because she needed someone other than Tipp ensuring that the ill patients were as comfortable as possible, and also to keep Jaren at an arm’s distance. As long as he remained busy, he wouldn’t be sitting by her bed and engaging her in conversation; he wouldn’t be subtly encouraging her to dislike the rebels; he wouldn’t be hearing her spout unintentional sonnets about the color of his eyes.

That she would be happy to forget, and sought to bury it deep into the recesses of her subconscious.