‘You see, I was so angry, so full of rage …’ His voice trailed off. ‘I tried to carry on working, but every day, things became worse. You must understand, the regime killed my wife, they controlled my job, they were watching everything, listening.’ He stopped talking a moment, cleared his throat. ‘And every night Hussein would ask for stories, but I had none. I was sick, sick of it, and then the allies, they approached me. A General Reeves. Wanted me to help them. Their maps weren’t good enough, they weren’t accurate enough. So, I helped them. They trusted me, and I put my faith in them. My brother, my family, they warned me. They said people knew, that the regime would find out, but I didn’t care. After Fatima, I wanted to do anything. Anything on Earth that would stop the war, make the whole thing come to an end …’ He let out another bitter laugh. ‘They’d planned an attack, Reeves and his men. The allies were training the Kurdish fighters, they were working undercover. I’d given them the maps, helped them understand the terrain, but they were ambushed. Twelve men killed.’ He looked downwards now. His voice becoming strangled as he dragged the words out into the open. Pulled them out in front of Nefyn. ‘I helped them for two years, I trusted them, but when it came to it, they didn’t have faith in me. They couldn’t trust me back. They called me a traitor. Thought I knew too much about what they had planned. They could have killed me, but they decided perhaps I would be more useful alive … be able to tell them things.’ Hamza’s eyes rolled back and his breath grew short as he relived the horror. His face was glistening with tears. He pushed them away angrily. ‘I promise you, I did not know that they would die.’

Nefyn listened to him weep. She sat with him. Close. Her hand still on his shoulder, feeling Hamza’s grief fall gently upon her like a cloak. She sat in silence until she heard the whisper of dusty wings. Some moths fluttered at the lamp, their silvery bodies drawn to the light. Hungry for its warmth. Nefyn watched them. Memories summoned from the darkness. Flickering. Hamza turned to look at her. ‘They took away my name, my freedom, my life … everything.’ His eyes were wide in the half-light. ‘You see,’ he confessed, ‘I don’t exist.’

Nefyn reached out her fingers, pressed their backs on to his face. Held one of his dark curls. Smoothed it in her fingertips.

‘It’s all right,’ she said softly, her voice thick with tears, ‘neither do I.’