“Go back home,” he calls as she hoists herself up into a cart and then onto the slanted tiles of the roof. “It’s not safe.” Only three years between them, his thirteen to her ten, but he’s taken to acting like it’s an uncrossable distance, as if he’s full grown and she is still a child, even though he still cries when he gets sad or hurt, and she has not cried since before their father died.
