“Mouse?” A hesitant smile crossed her lips. “Why did you call me that?”

Damn. He’d never addressed her with anything more than “You there,” before. “Because you remind me of a mouse.”

She looked deeply offended, and he rushed to correct himself. “Not physically. But you’re so quiet. If you want me to call you—”

“No. Call me Mouse. I’ve never had a nickname before.” Her smile widened, as if she knew a secret he did not. “It’s a good birthday present.”

They sat in silence, the only sound the occasional drip of water from the faucet.

“I won’t feel right taking that food.” She looked him in the eye. Something new sparked there, an inner flame that burned to banish the hopelessness she’d succumbed to before. “But I’ll take it, because now it’s every man for himself.”

“Or herself, as the case may be.” Cyrus picked up the soap. “But I’m glad to see you’ve developed some reason.”

She shrugged. “You promised nothing would happen to me. You’re the closest thing to a protector I have, so I believe you.”

His heart ached with the shameful memories of what he’d done to her, but he wouldn’t apologize. Conscience or not, he still had some pride, and he wouldn’t live with regret.

He finished his bath and gave Mouse a warning before he stood, so she could modestly turn her back. She went into the other room to change, and when she’d finished she brought him clean clothes, as well. When he emerged from the bathroom, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with a worried expression.

“What’s the matter?” He touched her arm. He wasn’t sure why.

She jumped, then nodded with an apologetic look. It hadn’t been him that had startled her. “Are they…I mean, will they come out? If we went up there?”

“They can’t go into the light. They’ll burn up. If we were in the light, we’d be fine.”

She chewed her lip. “So, once we got outside, then…we’d be fine?”

“In theory.” What was she insinuating?

Mouse started up the steps, but took them slowly. He caught her arm. “What are you doing?”

She lifted a finger to her lips to signal quiet. He didn’t want to follow her, but her single-minded concentration drew him in. He stayed close behind her, one hand on the railing, the other on her wrist. A few times, she stopped. He thought she would change her mind and turn around, but then she moved forward as though she’d screwed up her courage and forced herself on.

Once they entered the vestibule and closed the basement door behind them, her courage deserted her. She stared in terror at the sanctuary doors. A chalk sigil marred the wood. Cyrus could only guess at its purpose.