It doesn't take much. It never does. The slightest pull and he's moved, whether it's pushed, or pulled. He'll go. The only resistance is a moment of hesitation, to grab one of the quilts he'd brought.

Pull it over the both of them.

"I thought..." The words don't even come out. They don't want to. He thought those moments in the greenhouse had been it. One last grasp of something better, something that finally seemed to work, before the nightmare ended. "I waited. Joined the Wakers on the shore so I wouldn't miss..."

Anyone.

You.

"It felt like I walked away again."