Anyway, that was bad enough, but not being able to talk the way we used to was even worse. Alex had noticed how things were for me, though. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice when we’d been there for over a week. “I know you’re not very happy here.”

We were closeted away in his bedroom for a few minutes before dinner; distantly, I could hear the TV playing. “I’m fine,” I whispered back. “Don’t worry about me; this is what we have to be doing. And besides...you don’t exactly seem happy either.” I traced the dark curve of his eyebrow. Obviously being happy wasn’t the point, not when what we were doing was so crucial to the world. Neither of us would have chosen to be anywhere else, even if we could. But still, it made me sad when I realized that whole days had gone past since the last time I’d seen Alex really smile – that gorgeous, easy grin that melted my heart.

“I do worry about you,” he said, ignoring what I’d said about his own happiness. “Willow, listen, if we actually manage to do this – if we defeat them, somehow – it’ll be so different for you and me then, I promise...”

He broke off as we heard someone enter the dorm next door, moving around and getting changed. After that we fell silent, just letting the feel of our lips together do the talking for us.

Most of our conversations were like that now – snatched sentences; a quick touching of base with no time for details. I missed sleeping in the same bed as Alex. I missed it so acutely that I just lay awake aching for him sometimes, longing to slip through the dark house and go to him. I hadn’t really known before just how much we talked as we lay in bed together, or how precious those soft conversations in the dark were to me.

And I thought if I could only lie curled up in his arms again, and know that we were alone – really alone, the way we used to be – then maybe I’d be able to tell him how scared I was.