Reagan waited until Nancy had changed into dry clothes before offering the plastic bag—a convenience-store bowl of reheated rice and topping he'd grabbed on the way to the station.
The officers had given them a small, private room with a single table so she could eat in silence, and they could get some peace.
"I'm not really hungry," Nancy said, voice weak. "In my situation, I don't think I'll feel hungry until tomorrow—or the day after."
Reagan shrugged, folding his hands on the table. "Suit yourself. I'll be going then." He rose, ready to leave the stale quiet of the station behind.
Her hand shot out and clamped his wrist with a desperate strength that made him pause. He didn't pull away; instead, he stared, patient and unreadable, waiting for what she would say.
"Help me," she breathed. "I'll do anything."
