"That's not what I asked."
"No, your real name. The one before the cuff."
Elias stood up. Walked to the kitchen drawer. Pulled out the bolt cutters his uncle had hidden there for "emergencies."
Elias tried to treat her like a roommate. "Please" and "thank you." He asked about her hobbies. She blinked, confused. "I don't have hobbies, sir. I have duties." He made them both dinner. She stood watching him cook, her hands twitching, as if every instinct told her to take the spatula away. When he handed her a plate, she dropped to her knees. He nearly choked.
He found her crying in the pantry. Not sobbing—just silent tears tracking down her face while she organized cans of beans by expiration date. He crouched beside her.