Rhys watches Miles as he paces, up and down, in front of the computer in Rhys’ room.
This will be his third Skype call in 10 minutes, and no one’s answering. He’s called Lane’s phone directly, Ezra’s phone, and now he’s trying the computer in the library, but it’s only ringing and ringing.
Sawyer is hunched over on Rhys’ bed, wrapped in about three blankets, clinging to his bucket for dear life. He hasn’t been able to let go once since regaining consciousness, his body forcing ever last bit of what Rhys likes to think of as ‘evil’ out. Charvi mixed that poultice Laube had put on Sawyer’s wounds into an injectable serum, which Sawyer gets two shots of per day. The guy looks like he’s somewhere between death and hell.
Rhys rubs soothingly at Sawyer’s back as he wretches, wet and disgusting, into the metal container.
“What, are they all on a damn field trip?” Miles vents, hitting the ‘end call’ button. “Unbelievable…”
His phone rings.