She was a year and a half older than him, and right now he didn’t exactly know what to do. He patted her arm ineffectually.

“It’s okay, Bethie. They’ll come for us.”

“I know,” she sniffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

He swallowed, hard. He knew it was totally the wrong thing to be thinking, but in the last few months she’d really blossomed, and since her seventeenth birthday she’d become a really pretty girl. He corrected himself. Young woman.

She leaned against him, and he felt his muscles tense.

“I’m cold, Ethan,” she said, trying to snuggle down like she had when she was a child.

“Oh … okay.” With infinite care he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

For a long time they sat quietly, just staring at the tiny cell, at the dirty straw on the floor and the functional, if disgusting, toilet in the corner.

“You know, they’re going to think it’s our fault,” she eventually whispered.

“I know.”

“I mean, if I hadn’t wanted to go back to that shop, and you hadn’t insisted on coming with me, we neither of us would be in this position.”

“Yeah.”

“Uncle Mal is going to be so cross.”

“Yeah.”

“And Daddy’s going to be mad, Mom is going to shout, and Auntie Frey -”

“Hey, my Ma is gonna understand.”

She looked up at him. “You think?”

“I know.” And he did. His mother certainly would understand. She’d known how he felt about Bethie since before he did.

“You should’ve knocked me out and dragged me back screaming.”

“If’n I’d knocked you out, you wouldn’t be able to scream,” he pointed out.

“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled, and it warmed his heart.

She snuggled closer, and other things began to warm.

Cold space. Think of the black. And freezing showers. Uncle Simon’s face.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” she asked, unaware of his thoughts. Luckily, they’d agreed not to read each other when they hit puberty, more than uncomfortable about the random thoughts and feelings going through the other’s mind