Carver keeps an eye on Bossie as he works, but there's no screaming nightmare to disrupt. No signs of pain or true distress. The kid twitches but doesn't cry or try to hurt himself. Doesn't try to bolt or grab for a weapon. Better to rest, he thinks. Better to do what they can however they can.

It takes time to cook up a big spread. Carver makes enchiladas, he cuts up some apples to go with. Even makes up a pot of mochas, mixing coffee with hot chocolate and real milk so they can have a treat. It isn't all bad here.

He comes over with two plates and the mugs, sitting across from Bossie on the other cot. "Hey, kid," he murmurs. "C'mon, time to wake up."