Blinking in the absence of light, David looked up at the now-slightly-less-shadowy figure and blinked a couple of times again. He craned his head a little, trying to get a better view of whoever it was, and though he was still very wary, though it still took everything he had not to go into a complete panic, somehow he kept that instinct down and kept his eyes on them—on her. She's not your enemy. She's not your enemy, he repeated, a sanity-keeping mantra, one that was doing its job, at least partially.
His first instinct had, in fact, been to run. But buried way under three months of torture and hate, there was still the tiniest spark of David left, the one repeating his mantra, that told him to trust. That it was okay. Maybe it was the fact that he just wanted to get into the compound, away from the cold, away from those people, but whatever it was, it won out and he stayed in that spot.
Almost rooted there, actually. Accepting, but not quite trusting.
Safe. The word was almost laughable. If David could find his voice, he probably would have laughed, but instead he shook his head no. "Not safe," he said, sounding almost frantic. "Not while I'm out here. It's not safe out here. They're only over there," he pointed in the direction he'd come from. "They'll kill us both."
And they would. They'd kill them both, or maybe even drag whoever-she-was back to their torture chamber with them and start doing the same to her as they had to him. He didn't want to go back himself, but the last thing he wanted was to drag someone back with him.
Someone from the compound. Home, he thought. "I'm fine." The most fleeting of glances could've told her that that wasn't true, but he needed to believe it himself right now. "You're from Sing Sing?" he asked, his brain and his eyes still not communicating enough to let him recognize her. "I just... I just want to go home," he admitted.