Joan doesn't recognize the voice or the blond young man who addresses her, but she knows from the journal that is common now. It happens to her often. At least, if she believes what's in the pages. She has to, she supposes, because her body hurts but there are no stitches, no fresh wounds, and when she moves there is no weakness.

"Good morning," she answers, taking care to make her voice kind while she searches the pages of the journal in memory to put the name with the details of a pleasantly handsome face. "I'm all right. A bit of a headache from sleeping poorly but the caffeine will help." Jonas. That's the name. "And you, Jonas?"