Used to it or not, the lack of explanation still gets a weary sigh and maybe the barest kind of eye roll once his back is turned. She fumbles briefly with the straps of her backpack, how they're set across her shoulders and the dig against the fabric of the light jacket, and then she ducks after him. The stairs creak under foot. Dust turns in the air. She sneezes twice and absently wipes her nose with her sleeve as she pads through the house not quite on his heels. Whatever. It's too early for conversation.

Anyway, she's doing inventory in her head. There's an honest to god candy bar melted and then hardened back into a solid block somewhere near the bottom of her backpack that she's been saving for a rainy day (it's survived all of a week, which isn't a bad track record if you ask her - that's some pretty impressive will power), but she's hungry and right now it's pretty fucking tempting to go digging for it as she follows Joel through the barren kitchen and back laundry room, catching the screen door with her shoulder on the way out onto the porch.