“In the camp where you were, do you remember meeting a boy your own age? Jacques? And a girl called Noémie?” “No. Doesn’t sound familiar. Who are they?” “My brother and sister. They were arrested in July.” “July? You’ll never see them again. Gotta face facts. That ‘work’ in Germany . . . it doesn’t exist.” “All right,” Myriam says, taking the bottle of wine from him. “Time to rest.”
