"We'd see a lot more of each other if you weren't so afraid of the changes," Jam said. He went back to fingering the flashing red button his arm.

"I know," Jane said. She'd caught something in his soft voice as shrill as the dawn whistle she woke up to each morning. As sharp as the needles in her bed if she didn't heed the thirty-second response time allowed.

Jam went back to inspecting his arm. Jane felt his loyalty seep through her, rinsed by a black sadness that she just couldn't believe he could feel.

Or could he? Would he respond?