When Anathema finally turns around, she looks faintly disapproving, unamused. She's carrying a bowl of hot water and a clean cloth that she dunks in before gently dabbing at Sal's face (she could let the other woman do it herself, but she's feeling selfish; wants her hands on Sal, wants that reassuring solidity beneath her, proving she's actually here, actually sitting at her kitchen table again).

"What did you do? What happened?"

This is perhaps a more frantic, less-measured way of grilling her and welcoming her back, but— this is the first time Anathema's dealt with this. The particular, peculiar of Port-outs and timelines diverging and spinning out unexpectedly, weeks here turning into longer over there.

No one's ever come back before.