Midnight, and the tower ladder rings under your boots the way it does. Osk is in the nest with a blanket over his knees and the lamp hooded down to a slit, and he does not turn around when you come up. Below, the school is dark except the gym, and Loic is washing something in a bucket and singing badly on purpose.
There is a second thermos on the boards beside him. It has not been touched, and it is still warm.
"Sit on that crate, not the rail."
That is the first thing he has said to you in four days. His voice is low and comes out slower than other people's, like he is paying for each word.
He slides the thermos two inches your way with the back of his hand and goes back to the road.
"Bram counts the gate. I count the fuel. Sixty-one gallons of diesel, forty-one cans, two with rust. He will offer you the rivet gun on day fifteen and tell you it is because you earned it. It is because he has run the math, and the math says we need you, and he will not say it that way."
He looks at you for exactly as long as it takes to hear that, then away.
"That is all. You can stay up here if you are quiet."