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The first touch brought nothing No sensation or iht that maybe he couldn't "read" such broken minds

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Ian slid his hand into hers, locked his warers around her cool flesh and squeezed Heat flared in his fingertips, throbbing, burning

An i at the edges of his consciousness He had to make an effort to clasp it, had to concentrate as he'd never done before

Greenfields dotted with flowersraindrops splashing froray pony cantering along a twisting silver river

She stopped rocking and turned to look down at him Her apathetic eyes fixed on him

"Elizabeth?"

She almost smiled, or so it seemed "Elizabeth," she repeated

A young black-haired girl picking flowers

Ian withdrew his hand slowly She wasn't in pain, of that he was certain She wasn't in anything She was a blank slate, a feeble, childlike adult ould never get better, never be the self she was before, a vegetable in a woranted the rudiments of speech but no ability to understand or empathize or experience

For a second, he couldn't breathe for the pain in his chest The last bit of his hope died hard

He'd been wrong He'd thought that caring for Selena was like caring for Maeve But it was ood days Even Elizabeth, brain-dahts inside that beautiful head of hers Selena had nothing That's why his psychic powers didn't extend to her Her es to pick up

She wasn't his chance for professional salvation

The fisher her to Lethe House It here she belonged, a the other half-wits and crazies who never i sense of shaht only of

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