Yassim falls silent. It’s hard for him to tell this story, but Jacob knows that all he can do is lie still, act like he’s not even here.

‘It was a mistake, they said afterwards. The drone attack. An order that went awry. A drone pilot in fucking Virginia, or where ever they are, received the wrong coordinates. Who the hell knows? But instead of a wedding there were twelve funerals. My father. My mother. My cousins. My sister…’

Yassim pauses.

‘On her wedding day. She didn’t even have time to get married before they killed her.’

Jacob’s mouth is dry; he has the floor against his lips as he moves them. ‘But why did you lie?’ he whispers. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the beginning?’

He turns over so he can look at Yassim, leaning against the leg of the table with his eyes closed. ‘I couldn’t put that on you,’ Yassim says. ‘I don’t know you. Or… didn’t know you.’

Jacob rolls over on his side, leaning on an elbow. ‘I’m so sorry. If I’d known…’

Yassim waves his hand, embarrassed, self-deprecating. ‘Stop. How could you have known?’

They stay on the concrete floor for a while without speaking.

‘Where do you go when you disappear?’ Jacob finally asks.

Yassim doesn’t answer, but he opens his eyes and looks at him. He puts a finger to his lips to hush him. Then he stands up and stretches out a hand.

‘Come,’ he says. ‘Let’s take a walk.’

*

The city is quiet as they exit the parking garage in the middle of the night. A bass line is thumping from some roof terrace where the party hasn’t stopped despite the drizzle. A few cars roll by over the wet, bumpy asphalt. They don’t speak and Yassim leads him across a makeshift parking lot, into a late-night cafe which consists of just a few tarps over the ruins of a building that no one has bothered to tear down or rebuild. They buy Sprites and a bag of chips and sit beneath the tarp on dirty plastic chairs, sheltered from the rain. Yassim leans over towards Jacob and looks him in his eyes. The threat is gone now – there’s only warmth and sincerity.

‘Has anybody contacted you?’ he asks calmly. ‘Has anyone asked you to keep an eye on me?’

Jacob drinks the soda and looks into the parking lot and the rain through the dirty, transparent plastic. It’s cold and he pulls Yassim’s cardigan tighter around him. He nods slowly.

‘I thought we’d been careful,’ Yassim says. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I swear.’

‘They say you’re a terrorist,’ Jacob says. ‘That you’re planning an attack.’

His mouth is very dry. Saying it out loud makes it feel real. But Yassim just nods calmly.