"It's every night," Spencer said, voice faltering. Above them, smoke was turning the sky grey and black and red, curling letters and strange shapes, an archaic looking S before Spencer looked away. "We let it every night."
He curled his dusty fingers in William's and then turned with a bitten off sob, pressing his face into William's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "Can we wake up now?" he said. "Please, can we, let's just -- I prefer being tired, I want to wake up."