DANIEL POV
I had managed to carry Ivory into her house, settle her onto the couch with about six different pillows, and pull a blanket over her legs. She looked small too small. Every time she winced, a fresh wave of guilt hit me. I needed to do something. Something "normal."
"I am hungry," she whispered, her eyes half closed. "And my mom didn't leave anything prepped."
"Stay put," I said, standing up and rolling up my sleeves. "I have got this."
"Daniel, you don't even know where the kitchen is," she teased weakly.
"It’s the room with the stove, Ivory. I think I can manage."
That was my first mistake: overconfidence.
In the Connor household, "cooking" meant pressing a button on an intercom or sitting down at a mahogany table while a chef in whites presented a three-course meal. I h
