Children should not apologize for the brutality of adults, John thinks gravely. "Okay," is what he says. He copies Zelda's expression, squinting down at her as she squints up at him, and realizes she's probably not a child. Ah. Anyway.

"My house," John replies. "But someone else is living in it." John follows Zelda's hand with his eyes, glancing toward the lobby door. It will be quieter outside of the lobby, he knows, which John associates with 'good.'

"Let's go outside." John holds her elbow with a light touch, keeping her upright and steady. "The parking lot is good."