[He considers adding some, but who knows how much she takes; instead he just grabs the box of cubes and brings it out with him along with the two mugs. Of course . . . she can feel people all the time, can't she? She'd felt everyone—leaving. Being taken from the colony. That's messed up in a way he can't even begin to relate to, and yet his stomach twists in sympathy anyway, like it's trying hard to do just that.

He sits down close to her, setting down the mugs and the sugar, and then after a beat, reaches out to put an arm around her if she's up for it.]

. . . I got out pretty lucky. I'm just—I guess just 'cuz I got out of there without getting hurt doesn't mean stuff back here isn't all messed up now.