When Wren stopped walking and gestured to the stairs, the little hollow beneath them, Aiden arched his brows and then touched the boy's shoulder. "Oh, no, Bird, you ain't sleepin' down here," he said firmly, disbelieving that Wren had eschewed social interaction so much that he'd live in a dim, unoccupied stairwell without even a palette of blankets. Even on the run Aiden had always piled their laundry and backpacks, made bedding for them; there'd always been a warm, safe place for Wren to sleep against Aiden's side.
"Why didn't you get a room? This place has tons of cells, surely it ain't filled up. Somebody told you no?" he asked, his eyes flashing for a moment. People were used to pushing Wren around, to getting one over on him, and he was too naive to know it and too timid to push it. But if that was what had happened, Aiden might have to put his foot down to get his partner a room.