He's a child. He's a child, taken to this horrible place, stuck with the lot of them and no immediate hope of getting home. More than that, he's a child who was drawn to her post about death. He's a child who described his job, his job, as being in law enforcement, Special Forces. He's not even old enough to buy a lottery ticket.

She wants to hug him. It's a sudden and almost vicious instinct, ripping through her, crippling, this need to wrap her arms around him and tell him that it'll be all right, even if she doesn't know how to make it all right. She's just standing there, shaking her head. She needs to stop that.

"You. You said your aunt wasn't happy with your job. Your Special Forces job?" Everything that's coming out of her mouth just feels wrong. This should not be the world anyone lives in. "What does that-- what... happened to you, Peter?"