He didn’t care to imagine it. To imagine it was to think of his dad and brother back in Kenton Hill, readying themselves for passage down the shaft. He didn’t want to think of tunnels that closed in like card houses.
Instead, Patrick peered at her, trying to pick off the peculiarities one by one. There were scratches on her throat. Her fingers kept finding their way back there, worrying absently at nothing. He’d never seen a person itch for something so much it found its way onto their skin. But Nina itched. Lord, did she.
She pointed to the spired roofs of the buildings over the courtyard ramparts and named each one of them as though they were well acquainted. She crossed and uncrossed her legs in different directions, sometimes remembering to be proper, and sometimes reverting back to
