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“Don’t give up now.” Alessio whispered, his voice husky.

Nithel cleared his throat silently, feeling the pressure of Alessio’s hand on his shoulder. Like a friend. Were they friends?

Nithel trembled inside. How he wanted his wife in his arms again. To weep with her. For her to caress him, and tell him that though things would change, she would not. To see his children’s laughter. But… all that had been taken from him.
His precious son… forced to fight… Nithel shut his eyes, and breathed softly, his muscles relaxing.

‘Don’t give up.’ In the back of his chest, he smiled. The smile faded, I don’t have the right to give up. My country needs me. My family… what is left. His stops his mind before he falls into what he thought about every night. While staring at the fire, or where a fire should have been. The faces of others.

He looked at Alessio, eyes grateful, but sad. “Thank you.” Nithel sighed softly, the wrinkles on his forehead trying to fade a bit. “So, do you have a strategy while here? Have you attempted to escape windows? Is there an attic? Or…” Nithel smiled a small bit, “Is that all impossible? Is there a way to use this place, instead of letting it use you?” Nithel looked at Alessio’s face, then Mayra’s, then looked at whatever face was even partially looking their way. Were they all together? Or were they in separate groups that had been jumbled?  

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