The room fell into a quieter kind of stillness.
The warmth of the broth lingered in my stomach, dulling the sharpest edge of my hunger, but not the questions pressing against my mind.
Only then did I realize there was something absurdly basic I still did not know.
I looked at her. "I never asked your name."
One of her ears twitched.
For a moment, I thought she might ignore the question altogether. Then she said, "You may call me Mia."
May.
Not my name is, but you may call me.
Which meant it was either not her real name, or not the only one she carried. Still, I had no intention of pushing her on it. Not yet.
"I'm Al," I said.
The lie came easily, or perhaps not a lie, exactly. Just less than the whole truth.
Her golden eyes rested on me for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable, as though she could tell I was holding something back. But if she noticed, she chose not to say so.
"Al," she repeated, testing the name once before letting it settle. "Very well."
