Chapter Thirty
Kai
Beginning tomorrow, his note read. Be ready.
We have very little else going on, came the instant reply.
I was going to wash my hair actually, came the next.
And; We will. Be safe.
There was a heavy ink dot between the two sentences of that last note, and the hesitance of it gave Kai pause too.
He did not tuck the conch away as he normally would.
Even in the thick of a dry and unending headache, he could read the significance, Oswalt caring enough to tack on those two curt but careful words.
Wishing for his safety, just as he wished for theirs.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking. It was enough, either way, for him to feed another anonymous scrap into the glossy mouth of the conch.
I’m sorry, he wrote, for all that I said to you. I was wrong.
I know, read the next scrap.
Kai stared at that response for a long moment.
Perhaps he’d been wrong, then. He was … unsure.
He wasn’t sure of much lately. Couldn’t even say if the roiling in his gut was the usual nauseous hunger, or something less tangible.
The burn in his throat could have been bile or bitter regret.
He was burying the shell beneath the headboard when a final scrap of paper slid into his hand.
I am sorry, too.
Kai read it once, and again. Read it one final time before his lids grew heavy, and he curled his fist around the words.
For reasons his aching head could not untangle, Kai held tight to that note.
And though he’d had little more than a cup of broth and a handful of beans in the last two days, he found his stomach was somewhat settled when he finally drifted into his black and empty sleep.