The doorknob jerks beneath Greta's hand - someone's coming in, and it might be Iman but it might not. She stumbles back a pace or two, her stinging hands clasped beneath her chin in subconscious supplication: please, please let it be her friend, because if Mr. Fring's terrible plan was successful, it will be more loss than she can bear...

And there she is, looking shaken and a little scuffed but alive and well and she's--she's come to the rescue, just as she'd promised. Greta has enough time to drop her hands and let out a dry sob before Iman's hauled her into her arms, and she clings back in desperate relief, turning her face into Iman's hijab and squeezing her eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears.

"They knew," she says brokenly. "They knew you were coming all along, and I was so--so worried."