“Do you?” he asks, looking up. Their eyes meet, and Lynell almost can’t feel the movement of the train. “Do you deserve to know?”

She leans back, sitting on her feet. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing else to say. What’s done is done.” He shrugs and some of the tension leaves his voice with his next words. “And, besides,” he reaches out and grabs the muffin. “Right now, we need to focus on keeping you alive for the next thirteen days.”

Lynell flicks away a muffin crumb. “Don’t you think knowing why I’m in someone’s crosshairs would help?”

Daniel offers a small smile and a breath of a chuckle. “No. I think you knowing things is dangerous.”

“Hey!” she shouts, shoving his shoulder. The moment gives her a sense of déjà vu to a happier time when teasing each other was second nature.

“Just don’t do anything stupid. And don’t trust anyone that’s not me.”

They sit in the room for a few hours before deciding to stretch their legs and explore the train. Lynell is on alert the entire time, her hand gripping tightly onto Daniel’s. He’d probably prefer not to touch, but she’s too anxious not to. Each car with private rooms looks the same, with four doors to rooms on the left and a small hallway connecting the cars on the right. There are two dining cars, one at the end of the train and one in the middle. They walk through ten public cars, and dozens of people scowl at them from their uncomfortable seats. Lynell tries not to make eye contact with anyone but fails multiple times over when she can’t stop studying their faces.

When noon approaches and service personnel begin delivering lunch to the individual cabins, they return to their room in silence. They eat as the train moves along, jostling them and causing soup to spill on the way to their mouths. When finished, Lynell places the empty trays outside their room, and Daniel lies back on the bed, instantly falling asleep.

Lynell sits on the corner of the bed, watching him. His chest rises slowly, and his eyelids flutter, as if his dreams are trying to wake him. Every once in a while, his arms clench, and Lynell has to control the desire to lie next to him and pull him close to her chest. She remembers the nightmares he used to have three years ago, courtesy of the fruitless battles he fought. He’d wake up with sweat coating his skin and breaths tearing at his lungs. She’d grab his shoulders and rub her hands along his arms, promising that he was okay, that they were safe.

The worst nightmare he ever had ended with him giving Lynell a black eye in his sleep. He was horrified. Hated himself, wouldn’t let her touch him for hours, as if his skin was poison to her.