Fade's blood dried slower than Olu expected.
That bothered him.
It should not have.
Blood dried when it dried. Cuts stayed open until they closed. Bruises darkened before they faded. Pain had rules. Bodies had rules.
His father sat on the edge of the bed with one hand pressed against his mouth, and the red on his sleeve remained red. It darkened at the edges. It stuck to the fabric. It left proof.
Olu could not stop looking.
Lola noticed.
She moved between them.
"Do not stare," she said softly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Olu looked down.
His own arm was hidden under his sleeve, but he could feel the place Jim had grabbed. Not pain. Memory of pain. That was worse. His body had repaired the bruises, but his mind still held the shape of Jim's fingers.
Five marks.
Gone now.
Still there.
Fade lowered the cloth Martha had brought.
It had not been a clean cloth. It had smelled faintly of detergent and something sour underneath. Lola had taken it from Martha's hand, examined it, then used the inside of Fade's own shirt instead.
His lip was split.
Not badly, but enough.
"Let me see," Lola said.
Fade tried to smile. "It is nothing."
Lola gave him one look.
He stopped smiling.
She bent toward him, careful, and wiped the blood with the corner of his shirt. Fade flinched, but he did not pull away. His eyes kept going to the door.
The door that did not latch.
The door that was not really a door.
Olu sat on the other bed with his knees pulled close to his chest. His backpack rested beside him. The room had grown smaller since morning. The two beds, the dresser, the fake lake picture, the nailed curtains, the chair. All of it pressed inward now.
Outside the room, the hallway stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
Jim had not come upstairs again.
Martha had not returned after bringing the cloth.
Downstairs, the house had gone back to pretending nothing had happened.
That was its favorite trick.
Fade stood suddenly.
Lola turned. "What are you doing?"
"We cannot stay in this room."
"We also cannot walk blindly downstairs."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Fade looked at her.
The question hurt him.
Olu saw it.
Lola saw it too, but she did not take it back.
Fade lowered his voice. "I made a mistake trusting them."
Lola's face changed.
Not softer.
Not yet.
But less sharp.
"Yes," she said.
Fade nodded once, like he had deserved worse. "But I am still his father."
"I did not say you were not."
"You are looking at me like I forgot."
"I am looking at you like you remembered late."
The room went silent.
Olu looked between them.
He wished they would stop.
He wished they would keep going.
He did not know which was worse.
Fade breathed in slowly. "Then help me remember properly."
Lola looked away first.
That was not forgiveness.
But it was something.
She moved to the window and touched the curtain. The nails held firm. She slid her fingers along the frame, checking for loose places.
"Sealed," she said.
Fade moved to the closet.
Inside were two hangers, an extra blanket, and a cardboard box full of old magazines. He checked behind it. Nothing. He checked under the beds. Dust. A dead beetle. No hidden phone. No tools. No weapon.
Olu watched them search.
His parents were quiet now. Efficient. Different from the airport. Different from the kitchen.
Fear had burned away the performance.
They were not trying to be polite anymore.
Fade lifted the fake lake picture from the wall.
Behind it, nothing.
Lola checked the dresser drawers again. Towels. Soap. Toothbrushes. Intake papers. A small paper packet from New Horizons.
Olu saw the logo and felt his stomach twist.
A soft landing for a new life.
Lola opened the packet.
Inside were brochures.
Welcome to Your Transition Residence.
Understanding Intake.
Your First 72 Hours.
She laughed once, very quietly.
Fade looked over. "What?"
She handed him the first brochure.
He read the title.
His mouth tightened.
Olu slid off the bed and came closer.
The brochure showed a smiling family standing in front of a house that was not this house. A mother. A father. Two children. All laughing. Sunlight everywhere. Real sunlight.
Inside, the words were arranged in neat sections.
What to expect.
Who to contact.
How to prepare.
A note at the bottom said New Horizons partnered with regional shelters, faith-based charities, and private transition homes to support newly arrived families, displaced youth, and vulnerable persons.
Vulnerable persons.
Olu read that twice.
It sounded like a nice way to say people nobody would miss fast enough.
Fade turned the page.
There were partner logos printed near the back. Most were small and unfamiliar. One looked like a church. Another looked like a county office. Another had a stylized bird. A fourth had only initials.
N.H.C.T.S.
Lola took the brochure back. "This is how they make it look real."
Fade nodded.
He did not argue.
That scared Olu too.
The old Fade would have found one more explanation.
This Fade had run out.
A soft sound came from the hall.
All three froze.
Not boots.
Not Martha's silent steps.
Something lighter.
A scrape.
Then a pause.
Then another scrape.
Lola moved first. She put a finger to her lips.
Fade picked up the chair.
Not high.
Just enough that its legs left the floor.
A chair was better than a pen.
Olu stepped behind Lola.
The scrape came again.
Closer.
Then a whisper.
"New people?"
The voice was small.
Not a child's voice.
Not an adult's either.
Thin. Dry. Used too little.
Fade lowered the chair slightly.
Lola moved toward the door.
Fade shook his head.
She ignored him.
"Olu," she whispered without turning, "behind your father."
He obeyed.
Lola opened the door slowly.
The hallway was empty at first.
Then someone leaned out from the room across the hall.
A boy.
No.
A teenager.
Maybe sixteen. Maybe seventeen. It was hard to tell because hunger made ages slippery. His face was narrow. His skin was light brown. His hair had been cut badly, uneven near one ear. He wore a gray sweatshirt too large for him and sweatpants that did not match. One sleeve hung loose over his hand.
His eyes were the worst part.
They moved like trapped animals.
Not wide all the time.
Quick.
Door. Stairs. Lola. Fade. Olu. Hall window. Door again.
He saw everything.
Then he looked at Olu and stopped.
"You're a kid," he whispered.
Lola stepped partly into the hall, keeping her body between him and the room.
"Who are you?"
The teenager flinched at the question.
Like names were dangerous.
Fade came up behind Lola with the chair still in his hand.
The boy looked at it.
"Don't," he said. "Noise brings him."
"Jim?" Fade asked.
The boy's mouth twitched.
Not a smile.
A memory of one.
"Sometimes."
Lola's face hardened. "What is your name?"
The boy hesitated.
Then, very softly, "Mateo."
Olu repeated it in his head.
Mateo.
A real name.
A person.
Not pipes.
Not raccoons.
Not old-house sounds.
Mateo.
"How long have you been here?" Fade asked.
Mateo looked down the hallway toward the stairs.
"Don't ask long questions."
Lola's voice softened. "Are you hurt?"
Mateo looked confused by the softness.
Then he shrugged.
The sleeve slipped back from his wrist.
Olu saw marks.
Not bruises like Jim's handprint.
Punctures.
Two near the wrist.
Two older ones near the inside of the elbow.
Yellowing around the edges.
Lola saw.
Fade saw.
Mateo pulled the sleeve down quickly.
"They said you were transferred," Fade said.
Mateo's face went blank.
"What?"
"Martha said another intake had a medical issue," Fade said. "James said he was transferred to another facility."
Mateo stared at him.
Then he laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
Too quiet to be laughter.
Too broken to be anything else.
"Yeah," he whispered. "That's what they call it."
Lola stepped closer. "Call what?"
Mateo backed away immediately.
"No. No, no. Don't stand in the hall."
He looked down the stairs again.
"They hear floors."
Fade lowered his voice. "Come into the room."
Mateo shook his head hard. "Doors are bad."
Olu understood that before the adults did.
Doors closed.
Doors trapped.
Doors made choices for you.
Mateo looked at Olu again.
"You sleep?"
Olu shook his head.
Mateo nodded like that was the only good answer.
"Don't sleep too deep."
Lola's face tightened.
"What happens if we sleep?"
Mateo did not answer.
His eyes moved to the floor.
Then the wall.
Then the stairs.
"What happens?" Fade asked.
Mateo whispered, "They choose."
The hallway seemed to grow longer.
Olu felt the air change.
Not colder.
Thicker.
Lola stepped fully out of the room.
"Listen to me. We are leaving this house today. If you know a way out, tell us."
Mateo stared at her with something close to pity.
That frightened Olu more than panic would have.
"Everybody says today," Mateo whispered.
Fade's hand tightened on the chair.
"There is a road. There are woods. There has to be a way."
Mateo pointed toward the hallway window.
"Window's nailed. Front door sticks unless Martha opens it. Back door squeals. Basement door locks from both sides. Barn gate has chain. Jim keeps keys. Martha keeps others. James knows who calls."
"Where is the phone?" Fade asked.
Mateo looked at him.
The pity returned.
"You think phones call out from here?"
Fade went still.
Lola asked, "What does that mean?"
Mateo rubbed his thumb against the inside of his wrist, over the hidden punctures.
"Means sometimes you hear a voice you trust because they want you calm."
James.
Olu felt the name crawl through the hallway.
Fade looked like he might be sick.
Lola's voice dropped. "How many people are here?"
Mateo's mouth opened.
Then stopped.
Footsteps sounded below.
One pair.
Slow.
Heavy.
Jim.
Mateo went pale.
He moved so fast Olu almost missed it. He slipped backward toward the room across the hall.
Lola reached for him.
"Wait."
Mateo shook his head.
"If you hear the bell," he whispered, "hide."
"What bell?" Fade asked.
Mateo looked at Olu.
Only Olu.
"Small places," he said. "Adults don't fit."
Then he disappeared into the room and pulled the door almost closed.
Almost.
Not latched.
No doors latched here.
Jim's boots reached the stairs.
One.
Two.
Three.
Fade stepped back into their room. Lola pulled Olu with her. The door remained open a narrow crack because it would not close properly.
Jim reached the top of the stairs.
He stood in the hallway.
Olu saw him through the crack.
Jim looked left.
Then right.
His face was relaxed.
Too relaxed.
"Morning wanderers," he said.
Nobody answered.
Jim walked down the hall slowly.
His boots passed their door.
Stopped.
Olu held his breath.
Lola's hand covered his mouth gently before he realized he needed it.
Jim stood outside.
A shadow cut the line of light beneath the door.
Then he knocked once.
Not with knuckles.
With something metal.
Tap.
"Y'all decent?"
Fade's jaw tightened.
Lola shook her head sharply.
Do not answer.
Jim waited.
Then he laughed under his breath and moved on.
His boots stopped outside Mateo's door.
Tap.
"Matty."
No answer.
Jim knocked again.
Tap.
Tap.
"Don't be rude."
The door across the hall opened.
Olu could not see Mateo now, only Jim's shoulder and one large hand resting on the frame.
"There you are," Jim said.
Mateo said something too low to hear.
Jim chuckled. "Martha said you been up here making noise."
Mateo answered.
Jim's voice changed.
Not louder.
Lower.
"See, that's funny, because I ain't asked you a question yet."
A pause.
Olu heard Mateo breathing.
Then Jim said, "Come on."
"No," Mateo whispered.
The hallway went still.
Jim sighed.
"You gonna make me reach?"
Lola's eyes closed.
Fade gripped the chair.
Olu felt the Guide shift inside him.
Not words.
Not a map.
A pull.
Downward.
No.
Not downward.
Behind.
Under.
Small places.
Adults don't fit.
His eyes moved to the wall beside the dresser.
There was a vent near the floor.
Small.
Painted white.
Four screws.
Dust around the edges.
His heart began to pound.
Jim's voice in the hall turned cheerful again.
"Attaboy."
Mateo made a small sound.
Not a scream.
Worse.
A sound caught before it could become one.
Jim's boots moved.
Dragging followed.
Soft fabric over wood.
Mateo.
Lola moved toward the door.
Fade caught her arm.
She turned on him with fury.
He shook his head, eyes wet.
Not now.
Not with Olu here.
Not without a plan.
Jim dragged Mateo toward the stairs.
Mateo's hand appeared briefly in the gap under the door across the hall.
Fingers spread.
Scraping the floorboards.
Then gone.
Olu's stomach folded in on itself.
The sound moved down the stairs.
Step.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
Then the hallway was empty again.
Lola pulled free from Fade's hand and opened their door.
The hall held the shape of what had happened but none of the proof.
Mateo's door was half-open.
Fade moved first this time.
He crossed the hall quickly and looked inside.
Lola followed.
Olu followed because being left alone was worse.
Mateo's room smelled like sweat, dust, and fear.
It was smaller than theirs. One bed. No dresser. A chair without a cushion. Curtains nailed shut. A paper cup on the floor. A blanket twisted near the mattress.
On the wall beside the bed, someone had scratched marks into the paint.
Rows of them.
Not days.
Too many for days.
Maybe hours.
Maybe feedings.
Olu did not want to know.
Near the bed, a red smear marked the floorboard where Mateo's hand had dragged.
Lola covered her mouth.
Fade crouched.
"Blood," he whispered.
Olu looked at the smear.
His finger began to itch.
Not from injury.
From memory.
He saw his own blood pulling back into his skin.
Then he saw Mateo's blood staying on wood.
His body knew how to keep him alive.
Mateo's did not.
Fade touched the smear with two fingers.
"Still wet."
"Do not touch it," Lola said.
Too late.
Fade wiped his fingers on his shirt, disgust and fear passing over his face.
Olu stepped closer to the wall.
There were words beneath the scratched lines.
Small.
Nearly hidden by the bedframe.
He bent.
Lola grabbed his shoulder. "Do not touch anything."
"I'm not."
He leaned just enough to read.
NOT THE BELL
NOT THE BASEMENT
SMALL PLACES
THEY DRINK IN DAYLIGHT
His mouth went dry.
They drink in daylight.
Daylight monsters.
Not night monsters.
Not stories that waited for sunset.
Daylight.
Olu backed away.
His heel caught on something.
He looked down.
A small plastic hospital bracelet lay half under the bed.
He crouched before Lola could stop him and read the letters.
MATEO RIVERA.
Under that, a date.
Three weeks ago.
A barcode.
A county clinic logo.
Not New Horizons.
A real place.
A place that might have known him.
"Put it down," Lola said.
Olu obeyed.
Fade looked at the bracelet.
"He was in a clinic."
"Or taken from one," Lola said.
Fade stood slowly.
His face had changed again.
Less confusion.
More horror.
"He is a person," he said.
Lola looked at him.
"Yes."
"No, I mean…" Fade swallowed. "They have paperwork for him too. They made him into a file."
Olu looked at the New Horizons brochure folded in Fade's back pocket.
A soft landing for a new life.
The house had many mouths.
Some were doors.
Some were forms.
Some were people.
From below, something rang.
Small.
Clear.
A bell.
Not a doorbell.
Not a phone.
A handbell.
One bright note that cut through the house.
Mateo had said if you hear the bell, hide.
Lola grabbed Olu immediately.
Fade turned toward the hall.
The bell rang again.
Martha's voice followed from downstairs.
"Jim."
One word.
Not a shout.
A summons.
The bell rang a third time.
Olu felt the Guide open.
This time, not like a full map.
Like a line drawn in the dark.
Room.
Wall.
Vent.
Small place.
Adults don't fit.
He looked at the vent near Mateo's floor.
Then remembered the vent in their room.
"Mummy," he whispered.
Lola looked at him.
He pointed.
She followed his finger to the vent.
Fade saw it too.
Understanding passed between the three of them.
Not escape.
Not yet.
But something.
A place.
A possible place.
Martha's footsteps sounded below.
Jim's heavier ones moved after her.
Another sound came with them.
Mateo.
Crying quietly.
No.
Trying not to.
Fade stepped into the hallway.
Lola grabbed his arm. "Fade."
"I need to see."
"You need to live."
"I need to know."
"You know enough."
He looked back at Olu.
That stopped him.
The bell rang again.
This time, a different sound followed.
A door opening below.
The basement door.
Cold air moved through the house.
Olu felt it crawl up the stairs.
With it came the smell.
Bleach first.
Then damp earth.
Then metal.
Then red water.
His knees weakened.
A flash struck behind his eyes.
Drain.
Concrete.
A hand behind a metal chair.
Cloth stained dark.
Mateo's bracelet on the floor.
A mouth opening too wide.
Olu stumbled.
Lola caught him.
"What did you see?"
He could not answer.
Fade stepped toward them, fear replacing whatever need had pulled him toward the stairs.
"Olu?"
The bell stopped.
The house held its breath.
Then Mateo screamed.
Not long.
One sharp piece of sound.
Cut off almost immediately.
Lola pulled Olu into her body and covered his ears.
Too late.
The scream had already entered him.
Fade stood in the hallway with the chair in his hands, shaking.
Downstairs, Martha said something too low to hear.
Jim laughed.
Then there was a wet sound.
Olu's mouth filled with saliva.
He thought he would vomit.
The Guide whispered without words.
Not there.
Not now.
Small places.
He pulled away from Lola enough to look at the vent again.
Four screws.
Painted white.
Dust around the edges.
He could fit.
Maybe.
If the screws came loose.
If the vent connected to anything.
If Jim did not hear.
If Martha did not already know.
If, if, if.
Fade seemed to understand the direction of his thoughts.
He came back into their room and closed the door as much as it would close. Then he crouched by the vent and touched one screw.
"It's old," he whispered.
Lola kept one hand on Olu and one on the door.
"Can you open it?"
"Not without something."
Olu reached into his backpack.
Lola looked alarmed.
He pulled out a small metal ruler from his pencil case.
Fade stared at it.
Then at him.
Then he took it.
"My boy," he whispered.
There was pride in his voice.
And grief.
Because a father should not be proud of his son for helping him open a hiding place in a predator's house.
Fade slid the ruler under the first screw edge and twisted carefully.
The screw did not move.
Downstairs, Mateo made another sound.
Softer.
Broken.
Fade's hand shook.
Lola looked like she might run down after all.
Olu grabbed her sleeve.
She looked at him.
He shook his head.
Her face cracked.
Only for a second.
Then she stayed.
Fade tried again.
The screw gave a tiny squeal.
All three froze.
No footsteps came.
He continued.
Slow.
Careful.
The screw loosened.
One.
Then another.
The smell from downstairs thickened.
Olu pressed his sleeve over his nose.
His stomach twisted around hunger and fear and something his body did not understand yet.
Something in the smell called to the healing places under his skin.
Red water.
His finger itched.
His shin warmed.
The bruiseless part of his arm pulsed once.
He hated it.
Fade removed the second screw.
Then the third.
The fourth stuck.
He pushed too hard.
The ruler slipped.
It sliced across his thumb.
A small cut opened.
Blood welled.
Fade hissed.
Olu stared.
The blood did not pull back.
It stayed.
Lola took Fade's hand and pressed cloth to it.
Olu looked at the cut like it had insulted him.
Then he looked at his own hand.
He wanted to cut himself again.
Just to check.
Just to prove he had not imagined it.
Just to hate it properly.
Lola saw the thought before it became movement.
"No," she whispered.
He looked at her.
"No," she said again.
His hand dropped.
Fade removed the final screw.
The vent cover came free.
A narrow black space waited behind it.
Dust breathed out.
Olu crouched.
The opening was small.
Too small for Fade.
Too small for Lola.
Maybe large enough for him.
Inside, the duct turned left.
A crawlspace or old heating channel, maybe.
He could not see far.
But cold air touched his face from somewhere inside.
Meaning it led somewhere.
Not nowhere.
That mattered.
Fade looked at the opening.
Then at Olu.
The same realization entered all of them.
This place was not for the family.
It was for him.
Lola shook her head immediately.
"No."
Fade whispered, "Not now."
"Never."
"Lola—"
"No."
"I said not now."
She looked at him, breathing hard.
Downstairs, the basement door closed.
The sound moved through the house like a verdict.
Then footsteps.
Martha.
Coming up.
Fade pushed the vent cover under the bed, then shifted the blanket to hide the open hole.
Lola pulled Olu to the other side of the room.
Fade stood and shoved the ruler into his pocket.
Martha's steps reached the top of the stairs.
Slow.
Measured.
No Jim with her.
That was not better.
She stopped outside Mateo's room first.
The door moved.
Olu heard it creak.
Then she crossed the hall to them.
She knocked.
Softly.
"Mr. Afolayan?"
Fade closed his injured thumb inside his fist.
"Yes?"
"Have you seen Mateo?"
Lola's face went still.
Fade did not answer fast enough.
Martha opened the door.
She looked at all of them.
Fade by the bed.
Lola near Olu.
Olu against the wall.
The hidden vent.
The too-fast breathing.
The fear.
Her eyes moved once around the room.
Olu did not look at the bed.
He did not look at the floor.
He looked at Martha.
That seemed safer.
Martha smiled.
"Poor thing," she said. "He has trouble adjusting."
Fade's voice was rough. "Where is he?"
Martha tilted her head.
"I just asked you."
"We heard him."
"He has episodes."
"We heard him scream."
Martha's smile faded.
Not completely.
Just enough to show the teeth of the conversation.
"Some people scream when helped."
Lola said, "And some people call murder treatment."
Martha looked at her.
There was no warmth now.
"Careful."
One word.
Quiet.
Lola lifted her chin.
Martha's gaze dropped to Fade's fist.
"You cut yourself."
Fade did not move.
"That ruler slipped?" she asked.
The room stopped breathing.
Olu felt the open vent behind the blanket like a second heartbeat.
Fade slowly opened his fist.
The cut on his thumb had already begun drying.
Normally.
Humanly.
Martha looked at it.
Then at Olu.
She had not cared about Fade's blood.
Not really.
She was comparing.
Fade understood.
He stepped in front of Olu.
Martha's eyes returned to his.
"You are becoming less cooperative," she said.
Fade answered, "You are becoming less convincing."
For the first time, Martha looked annoyed.
Not angry.
Annoyed.
As if he had made a mess in a room she had just cleaned.
"Mateo is being transferred," she said.
Lola whispered, "Liar."
Martha continued as if she had not heard. "You may notice some activity downstairs. Stay in your room until called."
"No," Fade said.
Martha looked at him.
"No?"
"We are done staying where you put us."
Martha smiled faintly.
Then she looked at Olu.
"Olu understands staying hidden better than you do."
Cold went through him.
She knew.
Maybe not about the vent.
Maybe not exactly.
But she knew enough.
Lola pulled him closer.
Martha stepped back into the hallway.
"Lunch will be delayed," she said.
Then, softer, almost gently, "Try not to wander."
She closed the door.
No click.
No lock.
Only the shape of one.
They waited until her footsteps went downstairs.
Then waited longer.
Nobody spoke.
Olu stared at the blanket hiding the vent.
Fade's thumb bled through the cloth.
Lola's eyes stayed on the door.
Downstairs, something heavy moved across the floor.
Not Mateo walking.
Not Jim dragging someone upstairs.
A body being carried.
Olu knew without wanting to know.
A few minutes later, the front door opened.
Cold air moved through the house.
Jim's voice came in, cheerful and irritated.
"Van's out front."
Martha answered too quietly to hear.
Another door opened.
The side door of the van maybe.
Then a thud.
Then Jim said, "Heavier than he looks."
Fade closed his eyes.
Lola covered her mouth.
Olu did not move.
His body had healed every small wound this house gave him.
Mateo's body made a sound when they put it in the van.
That sound stayed.
The front door closed.
The van engine started outside.
Through the nailed curtains, pale daylight glowed around the edges.
Daylight.
They drink in daylight.
The van drove away.
For a while, nobody moved.
Then Fade went to the door and opened it.
The hallway was empty.
Mateo's door stood open across from theirs.
The room inside had already been stripped.
The blanket was gone.
The paper cup was gone.
The hospital bracelet was gone.
Even the red smear on the floor had been wiped.
Almost.
Not fully.
A faint dark line remained between two floorboards.
Olu looked at it from across the hall.
His body warmed under his skin.
His mouth tasted like metal.
He stepped back.
Lola pulled him into the room again.
Fade closed the door.
He leaned his forehead against it.
"They clean fast," he whispered.
Lola answered, "Because they have practice."
Olu sat on the floor beside the hidden vent.
He did not mean to.
His legs simply stopped holding him.
The house was quiet now.
No Mateo.
No van.
No bell.
Only the old sounds settling back into place.
Pipes.
Walls.
Something below.
Fade crouched in front of Olu.
"My boy."
Olu looked at him.
Fade's thumb still bled a little.
Olu reached toward it, then stopped.
He did not know what he had meant to do.
Help?
Touch it?
Compare?
His father noticed.
So did Lola.
Olu pulled his hand back.
"I don't want this," he whispered.
Neither parent asked what this meant.
The house.
The healing.
The fear.
All of it.
Lola knelt beside him and pulled him close.
"I know."
Fade put one hand on Olu's head.
"I am going to get us out," he said.
Olu wanted to believe him.
He almost did.
Then the phone rang downstairs.
One clear ring.
Then another.
Then Martha answered.
Her voice floated up through the floorboards, calm and distant.
"Yes, James."
A pause.
Then, even softer:
"No. The boy is still here."
Olu went cold.
Fade's hand tightened on his head.
Lola stopped breathing.
Martha listened.
Then she said, "Yes. I saw him heal."
The house held the words.
So did they.
Then Martha laughed quietly.
"No," she said. "Jim does not get to touch him again until we know what he is."