The days quickly blurred together underground.
By the second day, Don had stopped trying to keep track of time.
Morning and evening meant nothing beneath layers of concrete and steel.
The artificial lighting never changed, bathing the hidden facility in the same sterile white glow hour after hour.
Metal walkways reflected that light. Computer monitors reflected it. Faces reflected it.
Everything existed beneath the same unchanging brightness.
It made the hours run together.
Most of his time was spent near his family.
Not talking.
Not doing much of anything. Just being there.
Samantha seemed satisfied with that arrangement. She would sit beside him while watching the news, reading reports Winter compiled, or simply staring into space.
Every so often she would reach over and touch his arm, his shoulder, or the back of his hand. Never drawing attention to it. Never commenting.
Just checking. Making sure he was still there.
Don let her.
