“Yes?”

“What . . . what would happen to me if the creatures got me?”

His voice is blunt. “They won’t.”

“Yes, I know. But what if they did?”

“Then you would die.”

She is quiet for a moment in expectation, the word having no real impact on her. When he does not explain further, she asks, “What is ‘die’?”

He tenses, eyebrows furrowing at the realization of what he’s just done.

“Death,” he says softly.

“Huh?”

“The correct phrasing is ‘What is death?’ ”

“Oh. Okay. What is death?”

Now he feels pain. He feels anguish for foolishly spitting out a concept that never needed to be discussed. He hates to acknowledge it, but what can he do now? She cannot see him struggling, but his body language changes. If he holds on, she will never die. If he holds on, she will never die—

(. . . despite the fact that she will.)

The thought repulses him, jerks him back in disgust; it reminds him that he is not the only one who has control over her. He is not the sole determiner of her fate. Death is as well. As long as he lets it, Death has its say. Both he and it are in her veins.

And he allows Death to be a part of her. The conflict enrages him.

“Do you wish for the creatures to get you?” he growls, poking at her ribs and enticing her to stir, wanting her to feel the fear of her curiosity he no longer wishes to entertain.

“No! No, I don’t!” The sudden change in his temperament horrifies her. She can’t help but giggle under his prodding, but her fluttery breaths are filled with anxiety.

“Then don’t ask such questions you shouldn’t be concerned with! Or else I’ll toss you into the pit of creatures myself!”

“No, no, NO, Daddy, please, no! I’m sorry! I—”

He stops and she silences. His grip tightens around her, the arches of her ribcage fitting perfectly into the palms of his hands. He presses into her. “Don’t you see, my sweet? You need not ask such questions, because I am here. And as long as I am here, you need not worry. You are safe.”

“Okay,” she gasps, her heart racing in her throat. I am safe. “Okay.”

He sits up on the mattress and places her on his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck and nuzzles her face into its crevice. He pulls her away from him. She whines. He grabs the sides of her face, digging his fingers into her jaw, and presses his lips against hers. His breath tastes like brown water, metallic, and her teeth feel like they could pop out of her gums from the pressure.

She smiles against his mouth.

He pries her off and his lips disappear from her senses. She can’t feel him anymore, loneliness taking its place inside of her once again. She suddenly feels so cold.

The light turns on. Her eyes squint from discomfort; when they adjust to the brightness, she sees that the concrete room is empty. The door lock snaps. She bends her legs into her shivering body and hugs them, her knees wrapped in red-spotted fabric. She rests her chin and stares at the door.