It's darker outside the city, and even after they build a fire to beat back the darkness, it still looms around them, black and oppressive. It's been years since he was in a place this dark. Even the depths of the jungle aren't like this. He crouches by the fire, hands outstretched, glancing up at Florence's calm face. They've told her what they can, which isn't much. Neil is a friend. A good friend. That's all. Not how they'd met him. Not anything else. No Island, no twins, no word or mention of the brief time she'd shared their lives there.

It's better if she doesn't know.

They need to sleep, him and Tom if not her, but he doesn't know if he can do that, no matter how exhausted he is, lying down next to Tom and not being able to touch him the way he wants to, lying down next to Tom with Neil not there, with Neil lost and taken and maybe hurt, and he refuses to imagine any worse than that.

"You should eat," he says, looking at Tom and nodding to the jerky sticking half out of his pack.