I just walk over to Farrow and turn my back on the small audience. “You have a smoke?” I whisper, digging in my pocket. Empty. They’re empty except for my lighter. He’s digging in his. “Breathe.” “I’m breathing.” “You’re sweating.” “I’m doing that too.” Concern tightens his eyes on me. “How’s your pulse?” he whispers. “Racing away from me,” I murmur. “You wanna catch it, Dr. Hale?”
