Chapter Eight: What You Do With Shelter

[Pa****]

She was already awake when I rose. I found her in the kitchen, standing stiff by the counter, eyes sliding between the cupboards and the floor like she was trying to will them open. Hunger is easy to recognize.
“Hungry?” I asked.
She gave a small shrug, like admitting need cost too much.
“Eat.” I gestured toward the bread, fruit, and eggs waiting in the fridge.
She moved quick, mechanical, and froze only when the cat leapt onto the counter beside her. Blue eyes locked on hers, unblinking. She hesitated, then nudged the bread closer to the cat before taking some for herself. A peace offering. A survival trick. Or maybe both.
Later, when she passed me in the hall, she broke the silence. “How long… can I stay?”
“Three to six months,” I said. “Depends on what you do with the time.”
Her brow furrowed. “And then?”
“Then I leave the desert. Whether you come with me or not will depend on who you’ve become by then.”
She stared too long, as though testing if I meant it. Then she nodded like she understood, though I knew she didn’t yet.
In the afternoon, the pipes stirred. She’d found the shower. When she emerged, hair damp, skin scrubbed raw, she looked smaller. Stripped of the armor dirt had given her. She kept her eyes down, slipping past me, clutching her bag like a shield.
At dusk, I found her in the master bedroom, standing by the sliding glass door. Her hand rested on the latch, cracked it open just far enough to let the desert air spill in. For a moment, I thought she’d step outside.
“If you want to run,” I said from the doorway, voice steady, “run. Just don’t pretend you never thought about it.”
Her shoulders stiffened. The air shifted. She didn’t look back at me — not yet. But she closed the door slowly, as though the choice cost her something.
The first day is never about obedience. It’s about watching what they do when they believe they’re unobserved. Scarcity makes every choice desperate. Shelter reveals the truth.
And she stayed.

[mi****]

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