“They told me you died.” I hesitate, glancing at him. He has a hollow look. He anxiously rakes me with his eyes, as if he doesn’t believe it’s really me. “When?” I ask. I have a desert in my mouth; I try to swallow past the lump of sand in my throat. “When they took you from my cell. They taunted me with it—they told me you drowned.” “Did you believe them?” I ask. He grimaces. “No. Yes. No. I went back and forth. I don’t know which was worse.”
