"Well of course you're not, but it ain't that far, and you're about to catch your death," Queenie answers, doing Tina one better by shifting her hand up to catch hold of her sister's upper arm to keep her right up close, their bodies pressed together as they turn toward one of the paths out of the park.

"Thing is, I don't really know," Queenie confesses, finger's firming against Tina's arm as she drops her voice to a whisper. "Teen, I think it might even be a prison. It's not bad to live here, but nobody can leave, not at all."

These things, they've all got to be wondering about them in the moments when they don't have something to fill their time. Queenie's been no different, particularly on the nights when she just can't seem to get to sleep, all alone in the house and resisting the urge to run next door or down to the inn just to see a familiar face. But the thing is, Queenie's never been the person to muddle through the big problems; Queenie just makes the coffee for the people who do. She's got a place in the grand scheme, and she knows right where it is.

But Tina being here, it's like a kinda permission, an okay to acknowledge things that've been swirling around at the back of her mind. Things that frighten her all the way down to her toes.

"It's just right up here," she says, and points through the milky swirl to the smeary angles of roof lines forming themselves out of the fog.