Week led into week, and the weeks added up into months.

Technically Jack should have been up for relocation (or 'parole', as Jenson put it) only a month after Spot first arrived. Even with his extended sentence for disruptive behavior following the fight with Stomp and Goliath, by rights he ought to have been gone by now. But though only a short while ago he had been counting off the days until his release, something held him to the Refuge. Jack kept committing small crimes which added a few weeks here and a few weeks there- little stuff, like talking in the work line, or mouthing off to a supervisor, or asking for more gruel at breakfast. But the real reason he did these things was not 'to keep 'em on their toes', as he jokingly told the boys. It was Spot.

The camaraderie between them had developed into a deep friendship, such as neither had ever allowed themselves to have before. They never spoke of the bond between them, or even complimented one another- on the contrary, some of the Refugees perceived them as rivals, because their joking constantly took the form of mutual insults. But they were always in each other's company, the fellow leaders of bunkhouse 4, the boys no one dared to mess with. They switched so that they could have bunks next to one another, and would whisper late in to the night about their past lives and their plans once they escaped from the Refuge.

And in his heart, Jack knew that there was no way he would leave this place without Spot by his side. So he continued to commit his petty crimes, waiting for a chance of a duo escape to present itself.

Meanwhile, Jack grew a little, and Spot grew a lot. To commemorate this development, they had a joint 'birthday party', with apples and beer stolen from the Refuge workers' stash. Mike, Ripley and Jenson, having had more than their share of beer, climbed atop one of the bunks and began to sing what they had titled "An Ode to Jack and Spot". There was no apparent tune or rhyme scheme, and most of the words were slurred, but the passion was there. In fact, the boys became so moved by their own music that they woke the night supervisor, who was displeased, to say the least. Every boy in the room got another four weeks added to their sentence on that occasion, and Jack, Spot, and the three singers were given three days in solitary. But all agreed it had been worth it just to watch Ripley fall off the top bunk while attempting a grand gesture as he demonstrated Spot's fighting prowess. They never let him live it down.

With the death of Goliath and the humiliation of Stomp, life in the Refuge became a bit better for the boys. Breakfast went off more smoothly, for one. All but the most passionate fistfights could be stopped by a single glare from Spot, which meant fewer punishments and fewer injuries. The workload was still intense- hour upon hour in the freezing cold, carting rocks to construction sites or slaving in the textile factories. A rash of heavy coughs tore its way around the Refuge. Some of the boys disappeared for good. But as the months wore on the bunkhouses slowly warmed up, and the hacking and wheezing became softer. As Spot put it, life was "bout as good as it gets in jail."

But both Jack and Spot continued to whisper at night. Neither was cut out for the cloistered environment and strict punishments of the Refuge. They chafed under Warden Snider's rule, taking nearly every opportunity for silent rebellion. Spot was the especial thorn in the side of the supervisors. Extensions on his sentence made no difference to him. He was already in the chink until he was eighteen, without possibility of release, for the manslaughter of James 'Goliath' Winschell. And it was unlikely that he'd be let free after that, either. More likely a good couple of decades in an adult prison before he ever saw the full light of day.

The prospect of such lengthy imprisonment seemed to evoke a kind of reckless desperation in Spot. There was an unusual glow to his eyes whenever the work line passed the Refuge gates at the beginning and the end of the day. Jack, seeing this, prepared himself for the inevitable explosion.