She doesn’t move for a long time. Then, in a voice so small I almost miss it, she says, “I thought you were different.”
I reach out, slow, give her every chance to pull away. I put my hand on hers, and when she doesn’t flinch, I squeeze. The bones in her knuckles crack.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say.
“Then why are you here?”
I lean in, mouth at her ear. “Because you’re the only thing in this fucking place worth saving.”
She closes her eyes, lets the breath out. Her head drops to my chest. She stays there, rigid at first, then softer, melting into my body like she’s remembering how to be human.
I hold her, careful not to squeeze too hard.
After a while, her breathing matches mine.
In the silence, I can feel her heart beating.
I don’t let go.
Her shoulders start shaking and for a second, I don’t understand what’s happening until I feel the wet through my shirt.
She doesn’t even try to hide it. It’s ugly. Snot and hiccups, the kind of sobbing that comes from a place you only find when you know you’re already dead.
I wait. I may be a monster, but right now all I want is to be a soft place for her to land.
She gets it out faster than most. Three minutes, maybe four, then she’s hollowed out and raw and blinking up at me like she can’t decide whether to punch me or kiss me.
Her eyes are swollen, but still bright. Still Eve.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is shredded. I can barely hear it.
I smooth her hair back from her face, tucking the wild strands behind her ear. I want to say I didn’t know, but that’s not true. Even though I didn’t know about her and her lineage, I’ve known for years that the world was rigged. I just didn’t know it was this personal.
“I had no idea about your mother,” I say, and I mean it.
She looks at me, searching for the lie. She won’t find it.
“Liar,” she says, but her hand grabs my wrist like it’s the only thing keeping her from drifting away. “You always know everything.”
I shake my head. “Not about this. They kept it from me too.”
She closes her eyes. For a second I think she’s going to fold in on herself again, but she doesn’t. She’s tougher than that.
“I saw the photos. I found them on the dark web,” she whispers. “I saw what they did to her. They made her run, and then they—”
I hush her, pressing two fingers to her lips.
“It won’t happen to you,” I promise.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I say. “Because I’m not letting them touch you.”
Her eyes flash. “That’s not your choice. I’m the runner, remember? It’stradition. It’slegacy.” The words cut.
I nod. “I know. That’s why I have to claim you.”
She recoils like I’ve hit her. “You’re not—”
