[ Something about that pause gives her a pang in her chest. When she was Peter's age her home felt ... not unsafe, usually, but never once comfortable. Most of Liverpool felt like a gray iron box pressing in on her, and nowhere more than the small house she shared with her sister and the old man. ]

Yeah. [ Her voice is gentle for that. ] Doesn't even need to be a real place, if that's easier. It'll work best if it's real, but -- it's about the feeling.

[ Then, clapping her hands lightly together, she stands up. ] You think on it. I'm going to draw on your floor. Mind if we chuck that mattress in a corner for a bit?