He stays where he is, so rigid it's almost enough to make Rosie uncomfortable in sympathy, and while she can understand the desire to be cautious--of course she can, of course she's learned more of what would have been at stake for both men were the times more like they had been back home--there's nobody else here, nobody that would care, and it's all just slightly tiresome. But she can see the way Harry's eyes stray towards Neil's prone form, his guard slipping just enough to show a flash of concern, and that's enough to mollify her for the time being.

"Two days after I'd first gone to sleep," she says, putting the old bus pass she'd been using as a bookmark back into the book and setting it aside. "But it...when I was asleep, it felt like longer. Weeks. Like one of those dreams that seems to go on for days, but then you wake up and it's only just morning."