I smile like asking for my name is an Olympic gold medal. "I'm Edward, but you call me E unless I'm in trouble."

"Is there a reason I call you that?" She has a curious glint in her eyes.

That's good.

And sad.

And it fucking hurts.

"Your dad's middle name was Edward," I say, grinning. "So you always said calling me that had an ick factor."

"Charlie," she murmurs. "He's dead."

I nod.

The line of duty.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she whispers. "It's been a while."

Longer than she thinks.

At least she seems open.

To me.

Us.