Her shoulders shake as she buries her face against his chest. He's alive. He's alive, and all she knows how to do is cry on him. But gradually she reins herself in. Not because she wants to or because she's finished, but because he's just standing there, like a wall. There's no reaction from him that she can tell, and suddenly a new fear grips her.

Is he angry at her? He would have every right to be, after everything that's happened. She lifts her head, trying to catch the scent of emotion on his face, but there's nothing there. There's nothing to tell her what he's thinking, and that worries her even more.

"I'm sorry. I... They took you. They never brought you back, and I didn't know what they did... I thought you were dead." That was...weeks ago, now. Weeks spent thinking that they had murdered her closest friend. And now here he is, and... And everything feels wrong somehow.

"What did they do to you? Why won't you talk to me?"