“You’re really sure?” I asked, scanning his face. “Even if friends is all we’ll ever be?”

Seb’s eyes were steady, without even a hint of teasing. “Yes, I’m very sure,” he said. “I’ll be your brother, how’s that?”

He meant it. I let out a breath, relieved that he understood – and even more relieved that he still wanted to stay. “A brother sounds...really, really good, actually.”

“You’ve got one, then,” he said. “For life, if you want.”

“Thanks,” I said softly. And even though we’d only just met, I knew I probably did want that – already, I felt such a connection to Seb. Even more, I knew that I needed his help. Feeling shaky, I pushed my hair back; suddenly my words were coming out in a rush. “Seb, I’ve got so much I want to ask you about. I’ve been so worried—”

Seb had been sort of half-lying on his pillow; now he sat up, immediately concerned. “Worried?”

“More like terrified,” I admitted. “Your angel. Can you feel him inside you? I mean...present, but separate from you. Not thinking your thoughts. Like he has a mind of his own.”

He frowned, watching me. “Not for a long time,” he said. “But when I was younger, I felt that.”

I sat on the edge of my sofa cushion. “What happened when you were younger?”

Seb’s body language was casual: one wrist on his knee; the other hand resting on the cushion, propping him up. But there was a swirl of emotion from him – and all at once I knew I was the only person in the world who he’d ever tell this to. “Maybe you saw some of this when we touched yesterday,” he said. “When I was eleven, I was arrested for stealing.”

“Yeah, I did,” I admitted. “And that place they put you...” I trailed off.

“Here in Mexico they’re called reformatorios.” Seb pulled a face. “They used to say to us that we should be thankful to be there – because now we could be improved.”

Improved. Remembering what I’d glimpsed of the young offenders’ place – running water for only two hours a day; vicious beatings; being strapped to the bed at night – my throat tightened. Irony wasn’t the word.

Seb ran a fingernail along a thread in his jeans. “I saw a lot of things happen there,” he said finally. “Things much worse than stealing a wallet, I think.” He smiled again; there was a hard edge to it this time. “I saw a boy try to escape, and they caught him – they tied him to a tree and left him there for days. No food or water. None of us were allowed to help him.”

I picked up a sudden image of this, and desperately wished I hadn’t. Oh god, the boy’s eyes. His face. I could hardly get the words out. “What...what happened to him?”