The streets are mostly empty, though occasionally she can make out the distant shape of figures on the edge of floodlights as they make their way from their homes to the wall or back - coming in or off rotation. There's something strangely insulated about the streets and the dark shapes of the trees hazy out there beyond the perimeter. It's never fully dark and she's not sure how she feels about it.

The question's not what she expects to break the silence between them and Ellie scoffs involuntarily. Beyond that it takes her a moment to scrape her words together: "Yeah. His palm's all sweaty. I don't know. He's not my type."