"Is it a new book?"
She chuckled. "We haven't gotten new books in over a year. I didn't want to read something with a murder mystery subtitle, but I decided to give it a try because I've read everything else."
Their thighs were touching through the thin fabric of her coveralls and the heavier fabric of his uniform pants, but neither of them felt the need to adjust.
They had sat like this when they were children, and he had forgotten that. They had sat on benches in this same play yard, in the dining room, and the classroom, with their thighs and shoulders touching, and at some point in the year before he had been taken, the touching had stopped feeling like the casual contact of close friends and had started feeling like something else.
At least on his side.
He had hidden it in jokes and small pranks, delighting her in the only way she could have found acceptable.
Sullha hadn't hidden anything because she'd had nothing to hide. She might have loved him, but it was as a friend, and she'd assumed he loved her the same way, because that was the only way they were allowed to relate to each other. The other thing he had felt was not on the list of permitted feelings.
"What is it?" she said.
He blinked. "What's what?"
"You're staring at me. Do I have a smudge on my face?" She drew her hand over her face.
"No. You don't have a smudge. I am just remembering things from before," he admitted. "Bits and pieces that are coming back."
"Like what?"
"Like you with your nose in a book. You used to read with that exact expression, with your hair falling on your face and hiding it. I used to make fun of you to get you to stop so you would play with me."
She huffed. "You pulled my hair when we were little. Thankfully, you stopped doing that when we got older."
"You threatened me with bodily harm if I did it again. I took it to heart."
She laughed. "As if I were ever a threat to you. You were always so much taller than me."
"Not until we were eight and I had a growth spurt."
Sullha tilted her head. "You are remembering more things from your past. What has changed?"
"My team and I did a brainstorming session last night."
"Did you remember anything else?"
He nodded. "I have the names you wanted."
Perking up, she closed her book. "All of them?"
"Yes."
"That's great. I'm so glad. It would be a sad thing for those names to be lost."
"It would."
He reached into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out the folded square of paper. He had written down the names because it would have been too much for her to memorize. It was hard for him.
The Eight of them would continue using their designated numbers because that was what felt most natural to them. The names written on the piece of paper he was holding had belonged to different people.
He put the folded page on top of the closed book.
She unfolded it. "Number Two's name is Dumuz, and he is the son of Mirumah."
"Yes."
