Evan shivered in the dampness. Stonewall removed the dishes several hours ago. That was the last time he’d seen anyone. With nothing to do, Evan took to counting the drops as they hit the cement floor. Three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three, three thousand seven hundred and eighty-four, the pace never wavered. Plop, plop. How long were they going to keep him here? His thin T-shirt did little to insulate his clammy skin. He pulled his arms into the shirt against his stomach and did his best to stay warm. Would it kill them to give him a blanket? He could do without a pillow, but he hated being cold. Evan rubbed his hands up and down his biceps, trying to generate heat. His skin prickled lightly. Was it his imagination or were his arms getting warm? He pulled his hands back through his shirt’s armholes. His fingertips were a deep blue. The color worked its way slowly up his arms. As the blue spread, so did the heat. Fascinated, he watched his body change. If it brought comfort, there was no reason to fight it.
