She lets her eyes fall shut, for a moment not certain if she's annoyed or relieved, too numb to feel either very strongly. When she turns around it's slow, awkward, like she's confronting someone she hasn't snapped at plenty of times, half-carried to safety more than once, rescued from his own failure to interact with people on countless occasions, and considered, in passing and never out loud, a friend. Sort of withdrawn and sheepish. She's been caught.

"I yelled at Greta," she says meekly. It's not very helpful but it's the only thing she can think to say.