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She shrugs and lifts another spoonful of cereal.

“That’s a yes, in Mae language.”

I grip the edge of the counter to steady myself. It’s a lot to think about. But the offer is more generous than I could have imagined. And it’s not pity or charity. It’s a real job. A job and a place to stay.

It doesn’t make sense.

“Why me?” I ask.

Jonah answers without hesitation. “Because we trust our instincts.”

“Okay, but I need one more thing.”

The scowly one huffs in irritation. “And that is?”

“I don’t know your names. I mean, I know Jonah, but not…” I trail off, gesturing vaguely toward the other two.

The sweet one grins. “Finn,” he says, pointing to himself. “And this ray of sunshine is my big brother Boone.” He puts a beefy arm around Mr. Scowly.

“Finn. Boone. Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

Boone’s arms stay crossed, but his voice shifts. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll help you find something else. No pressure. But we thought you deserved the choice.”

That word lands hard.

Choice.

It’s the one thing I’ve never had.

I swallow against the lump rising in my throat. I can’t cry again. Not in front of them.

Boone studies me for another beat. “Is there anyone you need to contact?”

I shake my head before he finishes the question.

My lips press together, and I hold them there.

Eventually, I’ll have to make that call. Face what I ran from. But not yet.

“I’m a vegetarian. Will that be a problem?”

“Why would that be a problem?” Finn sounds baffled. “Just makes you cheaper to feed. You can eat whatever you want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Mae finishes the last spoonful of cereal and drops her spoon with a soft clink. No one moves to clean up right away.

The room holds still for a moment longer, like we’re holding our breaths to see what comes next.

Then Finn pushes off the counter and nods toward the hallway. “You should rest. I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep last night. We’ve got more to figure out, but nothing that can’t wait a bit.”

He says it in the same tone he used on the porch. Like everything’s going to be just fine.

And that, maybe more than anything else, keeps me from falling apart again.

I’m alone. Like, actually alone. I’ve been in the guest room for almost two hours, and no one’s checked on me. I’m not used to that. Back home, someone would have knocked at the thirty-minute mark just to let me know I was being watched.

I’ve done nothing since the kitchen conversation except lie on the bed and try not to think. Eventually, I pulled the blankettighter around my shoulders, curled up against the pillows, and let my body rest, even if my mind refused.