"Not going anywhere."
Her breathing slows, evening out and drifting.
"Ravgor."
The name comes out before I can stop it. She stirs against me.
"What?"
"My name." I stare at the ceiling. "The real one. Ravgor. It means fire-touched. Marked by flame." I swallow. "My people were iron binders. Metalworkers. The name goes back generations."
She's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep.
"Ravgor," she murmurs, testing it. Something twists in my chest. "Why are you telling me?"
I don't have an answer.
"Go to sleep, Eden."
Her fingers tighten around mine, then loosen. Her breathing deepens, and I feel the moment she slips under.
I gave her my name. The real one. The one I've never told another human.
I don't know what that means.
I don't know if I want to.
Chapter Six
Eden
Asprig of rosemary on top of the eggs. From the little pots on the windowsill.
He's never done that before.
He's at the stove with his back to me, shoulders broad under a gray thermal, sleeves shoved up past his elbows. Bacon popping in the cast iron. Coffee already made.
He stayed last night, held me through the nightmare, and slept beside me until sometime before dawn.
"Hey." My voice comes out rough.
He grunts without turning. Nods toward the coffee pot. "Hot."
Back to grunts and one-word answers, pretending last night didn't happen.
I can do that. I'm good at that.
I pour a cup. He slides a plate across the counter—eggs, bacon, toast. The rosemary.
I don't eat breakfast. He knows this by now—four days of me pushing eggs around a plate while he demolishes enough food tofeed a family of four. Whole chickens. Steaks the size of my head. Portions that would be dinner for normal people, twice over.
But today there's no second plate and no mountain of meat waiting on the counter.
"What, no whole chicken today?"
He shrugs without turning. "Not that hungry."
Diesel. Not hungry.
