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Rhiannon glanced toward the corner where Piercewas supposed to be sleeping but found it empty.
Where did he go?
She scanned the room, relief washing through her when she saw him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scanning the space with the calculating precision of a soldier. His eyes were shadowed, the lines of his face drawn tight. She wished she could read him better and understand what was going on in hishead. But Pierce St. James was a mystery wrapped in silence and guarded by walls she wasn’t sure anyone could break through.
Sighing, she turned her attention back to Michael. The boy shifted in his sleep, clutching Raszta tighter to him. He whimpered softly, and the sound tugged at her heart. His parents were out there somewhere, maybe trapped under the same debris that blocked their escape. What if he was an orphan now? What if...?
No. She had to think positively.
She stood, brushing the dust off her jeans. Fatigue crept into her bones, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. She needed to keep moving, to stay busy. If she stopped, she was afraid the fear and exhaustion would overwhelm her.
Across the room, Pierce met her gaze. His eyes flicked toward the back of the shop, where Dean had been pacing restlessly for the past hour. Rhiannon followed his line of sight, and a prickle of unease crawled up her spine. Dean hadn’t said much since their earlier confrontation, but his brooding silence was just as unsettling.
She crossed over to stand beside Pierce. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
The look he gave her was measured, his hazel eyes glinting with a mix of wariness and something she couldn’t quite decipher.
“I don’t sleep much,”he signed.
She watched him, trying to read the guarded look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze went back to Dean, tracking every restless movement.“He’s a problem.”
She followed his gaze. Dean’s wide shoulders were hunched over, and he was clenching his fists as he paced back and forth. Sure, he was rough around the edges, and she had to admit, his unchecked anger was worrisome. She had always been good atreading people, at sensing when something was off. And Dean was definitely off, but calling him a ‘problem’ felt wrong.
She turned back to Pierce. “He’s just scared like the rest of us.”
“No, it’s more than that. He’s going through withdrawal.”
Shock coursed through her. She cast another look at Dean, and suddenly, his erratic behavior made sense. The restlessness, the anger, the confrontations—it was all consistent with withdrawal symptoms.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her heart sinking.
Pierce only lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t need to say anything more; his silence was answer enough.
She rubbed her arms against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. “Isn’t that painful?”
“Very.”
Why did it sound like he was speaking from experience? “Then we need to help him.”
Pierce glanced at her.“And how do you propose we do that? We’re trapped in a building with limited resources.”
“I don’t know. But we can’t just ignore it, can we? Let him suffer?”
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting back to Dean, who had finally stopped pacing and had sunk to the floor against the wall. The man’s face was pale and slick with sweat, and he was shivering despite the warmth of the room.
“No,”Pierce finally signed.“You’re right. We can’t. The worse his symptoms get, the more desperate he’ll become, and desperate people are dangerous.”
As if sensing their attention, Dean’s head jerked up, and he scrambled back to his feet. His eyes darted between Pierce and Rhiannon, his entire body tensing like a cornered animal. The hostile glare gave way to confusion, then suspicion.
“What were you two doing?” he demanded. “Plotting something behind our backs?”
Rhiannon wanted to help him. She really did. But that didn’t mean she had to like him. “No. Just discussing how we can help you.”
For a moment, Dean looked surprised. His eyes flickered to Pierce, and Rhiannon saw the smallest hint of uncertainty. “I don’t need help from you or the mute.”
Pierce stepped forward. He was so much taller than the other man. There was no aggression in his stance, but Dean braced like he expected an attack.
