In front of the window was a desk, covered in books, papers, and maps. Lily felt sure that, like her old workbench at the apothecary, the mess and the apparent disorganisation was actually precise in its construction; she was sure Jem would know exactly where every single piece of paper or newspaper cutting was on that desk. It was easy to spot that Jem was a kindred spirit, now she could see him in his natural habitat. That didn’t exactly calm her jitters though. She had never needed a chaperone in Alder Vale; she had always just stuck with Alice or with Uncle Alf. She wondered for a painful moment how he was coping without her.

Jem had gone over to the fireplace that dominated the wall left of the door and knelt down, building a fire to take the chill out of the room. To the right was an iron-framed bed with a variety of mismatched blankets and quilts strewn over it, and there was a book that lay open on his pillow. There were also novels, guides, and encyclopaedias stacked up next to his bed, creating a makeshift nightstand with a precarious brass candle holder perched on the top.

Lily couldn’t help but feel comforted by the plethora of tomes scattered about the room. She could hear their voices chattering away, telling tales of adventure and mystery and romance. It was hard to feel uneasy in the presence of books.

Lily plonked herself down on an old, moth-eaten sofa in front of the fire and sank into the blankets and cushions that covered its surface. The whole room had an aura of comfort and profound cosiness and she let a little of her anxiety burn away into the warmth of the room.

Lily lost herself gazing into the fire that Jem was still stoking, noticing the smell of oak, honey, and saltwater, the softness of the woollen blankets, the aching still thrumming in her muscles. She was pulled out of her reverie as Jem stood, the fire finally beginning to catch. He looked shy. Lily realised he must have watched her take in the details of the room, and as she looked up at him, he seemed keen to know her opinion, perhaps even to impress her, but also apprehensive. The room was a direct reflection of him, a window into his soul.

‘It’s…’ She paused, looking for the right word. ‘It’s magical in here. It really is. For somewhere I’ve never been before, it feels remarkably like home.’

‘Ah, it’s all right,’ Jem answered with a modest shrug. ‘It is home though. I’ve built my life here. Every scroll, every book, every map, every piece of furniture. I couldn’t survive without this little sanctuary.’ He fell silent and let his tense shoulders drop as he soaked up the comfort of his hideaway.

He seemed to snap out of his nervousness then because he straightened and the look of nostalgia vanished from his face, an easy smile replacing it. Lily was left wondering which side of him was the real Jem: the relaxed, talkative boy with the kind eyes and the welcoming smile, or the boy who occasionally broke through that veneer, the thoughtful, forlorn, quiet, maybe even shy boy who looked so much older and more strained.