She doesn't respond to him, in word or gesture or action. Her shoulders rise and fall, and her breathing verges on hyperventilation. They stack on her in cycles—misery and loneliness take root in all the same places as her own, settling into the dark depths, making room for the burden of his fear, filling up her stomach and her lungs.

Gold flickers in the darkness. Warm, distant. A wildfire, growing on the horizon.

A name?

She can't even feel his hands on hers, even as he pries her fingers loose from the broken device.