He's silent a moment—a moment that seems to stretch. One thing to love breaches, that fleeting brush with a boundless universe. To abandon yourself to what could be for a day or two and dwell in possibility. Another to look someone in the eye and tell her her death was useful.

William takes a step forward, braced for her to flinch or duck away. Hesitantly he reaches—not for her but for the rumpled blanket, taking an end in each hand. Gripping it a second before draping it over her shoulders. “Why'd you go in there?” he asks, his voice worn down to a sliver. His eyes stubbornly locked on hers. “I bet it wasn't for nothing.”