I do not take her to the kitchen. The decision settles before we reach the stairs. Too many eyes. Too many whispers. The hallway confrontation has already traveled farther than sound.
And the air around her is still wrong.
Restless.
Like something stirring just beneath the surface of still water.
"You're not taking me to the kitchen," she says as we step outside.
"No."
She studies me in the pale morning light. "Why?"
"Because you need quiet more than food."
A pause.
"And you think I won't get that in your compound?"
"No," I say evenly. "You won't."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning in the desert is a fragile thing.
The heat has not yet risen to claim the day. Cool air drifts across the hard-packed ground, carrying the scent of dust and distant sage. Sunlight stre
