"She is, though, isn't she?" I point out, leaning a little more heavily against Mike, my hand curling loosely around Tom's wrist and my chin tilting up so I can graze the palm of his hand with my lips.

"I mean, somewhere 'round here, she should be..." She hasn't been on the island for a while, and I don't want to think about the possibility that people don't go home after they leave here. Even if home's a fuckin' awful place like this, at least it's not a pitch black fuckin' void of knowin' fuck all.