Page 132 of Stay Scared

I step into his path.

Cade brakes hard enough that his boot scrapes concrete. Both hands rise toward me and hover beside my arms, fingers curling before he forces them down.

“Do not.”

His shoulders go rigid. “I thought those walls had you.”

“They didn’t.”

“I can see that now.”

Cade looks past me toward the corridor as if he can still see the partition dropping between us. “I heard the metal come down. The rope went dead in my hand, and you were just gone.”

“You were about three seconds from picking me up and putting me somewhere you decided was safe.”

“Probably less.”

His voice comes out rough.

“Listen before you grab me.”

His mouth tightens. “I’m trying.”

Behind us, Owen curses as the relay meter drops again. He stays beneath the monitors, one shoulder braced against the equipment rack while he reroutes another cable.

“You still need us here?” I ask.

“Until I tell you the relay is stable.”

“Call if anything changes.”

“I will.”

I point toward the cramped storage room off the projection corridor. “Cade, come with me.”

Ash looks up from the theater diagram. “Door stays open.”

“We will.”

Cade follows.

Old film canisters and maintenance equipment line the storage-room walls. A scarred wooden bench sits beneath empty shelves, with emergency supplies filling a cabinet beside the open door. The skull mask hangs from a hook nearby.

Cade catches me looking at it. “That one’s mine.”

“Territorial already?”

“The left eye got fucked up in the memory-house set.”

His hand starts toward it.

“Leave it.”

Cade drops his hand.

I open the first-aid cabinet and take out a clean dressing. “Vest off. Sit down.”

He eases onto the bench while I undo the fasteners and work the vest away from his injured side. The bandage underneath has shifted, and blood has seeped through one edge.