‘I saw him.’ Hamza said the words slowly, as if reasserting his own truth. ‘I saw him throw the compass into the sea. I saw it with my own eyes.’

Nefyn was staring into the fire, the crown of her head under Hamza’s chin.

‘I wanted you to have it back,’ she said, her voice clouding in the cold.

‘Nefyn, this doesn’t make sense. You could have killed yourself.’

Nefyn remained silent.

Hamza looked into her face. Pressed his thumbs on the dark circles under her eyes. Her skin deathly white.

‘How? How did you do it?’ Hamza searched her expression. His eyes pained. ‘It’s impossible,’ he said again.

Nefyn shook her head. Heavy tears in her eyes.

‘No, it’s not.’

‘But why?’

Hamza watched her as she cried, saw the sorrow in her face. The sorrow of hope, the heaviest burden anyone could carry. He had seen it in parents’ faces watching over their injured children, and in the faces of the elderly nearing death. He held her once more, pressed her to him and kissed her head. The compass, still spinning, unable to settle between them in its case.