“Is it working?” Helios asked in a hushed whisper. He stood by the door, keeping watch. If anyone came through the doors at the end of the hallway, he would see them and they would hide. So far, the day had graced them with a fantastic run of luck. Not even a close call. Yet.
“I don’t know.” Ivy watched the man’s face. Infected humans didn’t always wake up right away. Sometimes the reaction was almost instantaneous; other times, it took hours. The man’s eyes darted beneath his lids, but that wasn’t unusual. Those who had survived bouts with the ku?edra’s toxic influence had told Ivy later that it was like being trapped in an endless nightmare, tailored to their specific fears. The thought of it sent a shudder through Ivy. She hoped the man’s torment was nearly at an end. The preternaturally aged Michael Ian Hunt had shown no improvement since their last visit, but he hadn’t gotten any worse, either. It was a frail silver lining, but Ivy counted it as one nonetheless.
Ivy had nearly given up hope for the afflicted man before her when a tiny movement caught her attention. She looked away from the man’s face and searched the rest of his body for signs of life.
His finger twitched.
He was waking up.
Ivy broke into a grin. Thank the gods. “It’s working,” she told Helios.
He matched her smile with one of his own. “That’s wonderful.” Suddenly, his gaze cut to the right, toward the door at the end of the hallway. “Someone’s coming.”
He left his post and pulled Ivy behind the tall cabinet at the back of the room. It was a tight squeeze.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, an unhurried tread approaching the quarantine room. Ivy had made sure to come to the hospital after hours—not that a hospital of this size ever really settled down for the night—and so far they had managed to avoid detection. But no streak of good luck was infinite, and Ivy began to worry that theirs may have just run out.
Her back was pressed tightly against the wall. Helios had one hand propped beside her head, the other rested lightly on her hip. It was an innocent touch, perfectly innocuous in its practicality. It was where he had touched her when he had pushed her—gently—behind the cabinet, but Ivy could focus on little else besides the warmth radiating from his palm through her light sweater.
The door to the room opened, and Ivy held her breath. Without making the slightest sound, Helios pressed closer. He bent his head so that he would not be seen over the top of the cabinet. Ivy’s hands settled on his chest. It was right there. She couldn’t think where else she was supposed to put them.
Helios had tucked the sunglasses he used to hide his yellow eyes into his back pocket when he had taken up watch by the door, and Ivy had similarly shed her own so she would be able to work with ease. Now nothing stood between Ivy and that piercing sunshine gaze. His eyes met hers as they both listened to the person who had entered the room. They were standing so close that if Ivy wanted to, she could count his eyelashes one by one. She flushed.
The sound of a clipboard being removed from the slot at the foot of the bed broke their connection. A nurse, then, Ivy mused. She listened as the nurse recorded patients’ vitals, removing and replacing clipboards with efficiency. Helios drew in a quiet breath, and Ivy’s fingertips sank into the wool of his sweater.
After an interminable amount of time, the nurse departed and the door slid shut behind her. Ivy thanked every single god she could think of that the nurse had been too lazy to do a thorough check of the black-veined skin of her patients. The bloodweed had already begun to work its magic—literally—on some of them, and Ivy had noticed a few of the dark, swollen veins diminishing in size and intensity.
Helios did not move. Ivy did not complain.
She waited a few more seconds, listening to the nurse’s footsteps retreat down the hallway and out of the quarantine wing.
“She’s gone,” Helios said.
“Yeah,” Ivy agreed.
Another moment passed before Helios stepped away. A small smile flashed across his face, as if he, too, had realized that there had been plenty of other places for Ivy’s hands to rest besides his chest. But he didn’t say anything to make the heat in her cheeks elevate to dangerous levels. If she blushed any harder, she would probably pass out. And then Helios would have to cart her unconscious body back home. And then she would never be able to look him in the eye again.
Ivy stepped out of the hiding spot and straightened clothing unnecessarily.
“We should probably get out of here,” she said.
Helios nodded, and with a knowing backward glance, he made his way to the door. “Let me make sure the coast is clear.”
Slowly, he opened the door and peered into the hallway. Ivy waited, standing a respectable three feet behind him. Satisfied that they were unlikely to run into anyone, he opened the door all the way and waved Ivy forward.
“All clear,” he said in a soft voice, entirely too intimate for the sterile surroundings.
Ivy mumbled her thanks and followed him out. Heads down, they slunk through corridors, past the watchful eyes of nurses and the less watchful eyes of doctors, faces buried in clipboards. Getting out was always easier than getting in. They snuck out of the hospital the same way they’d entered—through the morgue—and despite the covered cadaver lying on a slab in the middle of the room, not once did that small smile flee Helios’s face.
—
Adrenaline hummed in Ivy’s veins. She was beginning to understand why Echo relished the act of breaking and entering. There was no thrill quite like slipping through the shadows of a place where you didn’t belong. The pleasure of successfully evading watching eyes had a certain addictive appeal. Combined with the knowledge of a job well done—and several victims of the ku?edra healed—the feeling sparkled in Ivy’s chest like celebratory fireworks.
Helios held the door open for her as they exited the in-between via a utility closet on the far end of a subway platform near the hospital. Not one soul paid them the least bit of attention.
“Are you hungry?” Helios asked.
“I would murder someone for a cupcake,” said Ivy. Crime, she found, made her hungry. Maybe that was why nearly everything Echo ate was stolen; it was like feeding an addiction.
“Personally, I prefer my cake without bloodshed, but I’m sure we can find something to your liking,” he said as they skirted a small crowd on the platform. They went up the stairs, through the turnstiles, and out into the world. “Lead the way.”
There were few places open, so Ivy opted for a nearby coffee shop that kept absurd hours, catering to the constant flow of traffic to and from the hospital. Human eateries were still something of a marvel for Helios, and Ivy relished the chance to watch him ogle the display cases full of decadent desserts and puzzle at the menu of incomprehensible beverages.