“You’re all right?” she asked. Mud crusted to the side of his jaw. His lips were dry and cracked, but she didn’t see any new injuries. “How’s your hand?”

He lifted his arm. A white cast reached from his fingers to his elbow. “It’s soft inside and cool. They gave me some pain medicine, too.” He smiled. “Works better than Luster.”

“What about Cinder?”

Perry looked down at his cast, his grin fading. “He’s in the medical ward.”

“Do they think they can help him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t said anything about him, and Cinder won’t let anyone near him. I’ll go see him later.” He sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I couldn’t leave him out there.”

“I know,” she said. She couldn’t either. But she also couldn’t deny the danger in bringing Cinder around other people. He was a boy, but she’d seen what he did to Perry’s hand.

Perry tipped his head to the side. “I gave Marron the Smarteye. He’s working on fixing it. He’ll let us know when there’s news.”

“We made it, ally,” she said.

“We did.” He smiled. It was the lion grin she’d only seen a few times. Sweet and engaging, with a hint of shyness. It showed a whole part of him she didn’t know. Heart pounding, she looked down and saw that they were on the same bed. Alone.

He tensed like he’d just noticed the same thing and then his gaze flicked to the door. She didn’t want him to leave. He was finally talking to her without the grit of anger between them. Without any help from Luster or Roar’s easy chatter. She said the first thing that came to mind. “Where’s Roar?”

His eyes widened slightly. “Downstairs. I can go get him—”

“No . . . I just wondered if he’d made it back safe.”

It was too late. He’d already reached the door. “Not a scratch on him.” He hesitated for a moment. “I’m going to go pass out somewhere,” he said, and left.

For a few moments, she stared at the spot where he’d been. Why had he hesitated? What had he wanted to say?

She burrowed back into the warm covers. She was still in her filthy clothes, but she felt the soft pressure of bandages on her feet. Vaguely she remembered answering Slate’s question about her limp.

A lamp on the bedside illuminated soft cream walls. She was in a room, four solid walls around her. It was so quiet. She didn’t hear the rustling wind, or the Croven’s bells, or the sound of her running feet. She looked up and saw a ceiling that was still. Perfectly still. She hadn’t felt this safe since she’d last been with Lumina.