“Do you really not love anyone?” Jordan asked on the sixth or seventh day of their captivity—it was hard to tell for sure how much time had passed when one day bled into the next and Damiano was the only thing in his world. “I don’t,” Damiano said, his breath brushing against Jordan’s cheek. His answer sounded half-assed, as if it wasn’t the topic he was interested in and he wanted to move on to something else. “That seems… lonely.” Damiano didn’t say anything. “Don’t you believe in love?”
