After twelve hours in transit, two hours of waiting, and a regrettable goodbye, Sam was in a world of her own, mind only on hassling her ancient old friend. If she were more awake, more alert, Will's words might have registered; as it was, he'd called out quietly (as his mother still slept) and Sam hadn't really heard him. She'd swept out the door to the extent she could sweep, striding down the sidewalk and offering a fond “My guy,” as she approached.

“Glad you could make it.”