THEY CALL AN UNEASY TRUCE, Dawn and Wendy and Cam. They go out for coffee.

They go out for coffee, and as they sit across from each other amid a sea of hurried, stressed-out Chicago people, and sip their drinks, Wendy dabs at her eyes and doesn’t say anything, and Dawn watches people go by, and she doesn’t say anything, either. And eventually, Cam clears his throat.

“It must have been so scary,” he says. “Out in the wilderness.”

Dawn sips her coffee and doesn’t reply.

And after a long silence, Cam tries again. “We would never have sent you,” he says, “if we knew, Dawn; they swore to us it was safe.”

Dawn still doesn’t answer. She knows that he’s trying, but she’s just not here for it. She doesn’t want to give him an inch.

And Cam knows it.

He blows out a breath and drops his head into his hands. And Dawn can see how Cam’s lost weight and how skinny he looks and how his whole body shakes when he cries. And she knows he feels guilty, too.

After a few awkward minutes of Cam pretending he isn’t crying and Wendy dabbing her eyes and Dawn alternately feeling embarrassed and trying not to cry herself, Cam wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He looks around the coffee shop and pushes back his chair. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I’ll let you two talk things out,” he says.

“I’ll just—I’ll wait outside.”