She doesn't want to know his name. Not really. Because the second you start trading names and getting to know each other — then feelings get involved. Inevitably. Because that's what humans instinctively do. But sentiment is the last thing they need. Sentiment won't keep them alive. So she doesn't reciprocate. And she doesn't call him Poe.

"If something horrible happens, I won't have time for that shit," she mutters in response, "So try not to fucking die. At least not until my shoulder heals a little more."

It's a deflection, maybe. Something harsh she says just to keep the distance between them. As if that matters when they could be the last two fucking humans for a hundred miles and he's already holding her half-naked body against his. She seems aware of it, and after a few moments, she starts trying to pull away — even though her lips are still a little blue, her skin still cool to the touch.