The silence stretches out. Carver doesn’t break it, just holds there and watches Dulcinea as the kitten totters around the kitchen and chases after shadows. She’s fearless and bold. Nothing’s ever hurt her—not yet. Maybe that part comes later. Maybe she ends up just as brittle and mean as him, infected by proximity.

Maybe not, though. That’s the hope, isn’t it?

Carver lifts his head, watching Rosita carefully. “I want that, too,” he admits.

It doesn’t feel like a safe thing to admit, or to want. But he does.