"That's the deal." But Tuesday feels so far away, and now he's not even sure anymore what day it is now--in the Realm, each day bled into the other and all of them eventually stopped meaning anything. Christmas. Thanksgiving. Birthdays.

He can hear the water flowing a little way ahead. Behind and distant now is the glow of the fire. He stops and tilts his head back, trying to breathe, because suddenly it's hard, his throat choked with everything he's pushed to the side since Neil vanished. Because you have to. Because here, grief is a luxury that the bereaved can't afford.

"I should've held on tighter," he whispers. "I should've..."