Seeing him sit at the edge of the bed, still as a statue and hands curled into fists, while Lynell told him the truth, broke her heart. He wouldn’t let her touch him. He wouldn’t look at her. When she’d finished her story, her entire body was shaking. For a moment, she imagined Daniel holding her like he used to. Her body yearned for it.

Instead of giving him details, she filled in gaps with “I don’t know’s” and “I’m sorry’s” that all fell flat.

Daniel was broken.

She’d broken him.

Lynell gently climbs off the bed and goes to the bathroom. She stares at the cloudy mirror.

Her hair has partly escaped her ponytail and is tangled in knots. Leftover makeup cracks in the corners of her eyes and a film has gathered at the corners of her lips. She turns on the tap and splashes her face with cold water, wishing for a shower. Thankfully, she packed her toothbrush and hairbrush and makes quick work on her appearance until she’s presentable.

The clock in their cabin reads 6:00 a.m., which means they’ve been traveling for ten hours. Only fourteen more. Then twelve more days of surviving.

Lynell bends down, going through the bag Daniel had packed. There are two IDs, a plastic bag filled with more money than Lynell has seen in over a year, two books, rope, a small first aid kit, some protein bars, and three bottles of water. She huffs and grabs a protein bar when her stomach growls.

“They serve breakfast.”

Lynell jumps and turns around, dropping the bar. Daniel is sitting up, staring at her with dark shadows under his eyes.

“Oh . . .”

“It’s included. Save that for when we really need it,” he says, each word clipped.

“Okay.” Lynell returns the bar to the bag.

“I’ll go get breakfast and bring it back to the room. Just let me piss first. Don’t let anyone in the room while I’m gone. And keep your gun close.”

“Okay,” she repeats, the air taut with tension.

Daniel climbs out of bed, stretches, and ruffles his hair.

“Daniel . . .”

“Not now, Lynell. I’m just exhausted.”

She nods, and he brushes past her to get to the bathroom. Her skin tingles from the near touch. Her chest tightens, and she climbs back into bed, suddenly feeling sick. As the train starts moving again, she lies on her side, facing the wall and pulling her legs into her chest.

Over the last few years, she trained herself not to think of Daniel or remember what she left behind. But now that he’s so close, the memories are flooding back. Worse, the way she felt with him—safe and happy—threatens to drown her.

Daniel doesn’t say anything when he leaves the room. She hears the lock click into place behind him. She rolls over, stares at the ceiling, and covers her face with her hands, stifling a scream.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she let that slip?