A hesitant little tap on your arm pulls your attention away from the bonfire.
It's Justine. She's scooted right next to you—not close enough to touch, but close enough so that you're the only person who can hear when she says, "Thanks, Pika Shimon Capela."
After that tap, she wraps her arms tightly around herself again, hugging her knees against her chest. She's not looking at you; she's not looking at anyone, really, just staring out at the brightness of the bonfire.
Sometimes, it's easier to say things when you can pretend you're alone, and you're only talking to the darkness. Especially big things. Especially things that make you vulnerable.
Things like, "I was really scared." Justine would never say that in daylight. "I was scared when…you know." Yes, you know. "But then I felt better 'cause you were there."