The room looks different since the last time he was in here. More settled, the place coming together. There are books on the windowsill. Space for shelving. A desk, and a mattress. Electricity. Space that no one has taken over, or claimed for their own.

Carver scrubs at his face and sets the pack down. It's hard to focus. He ought to secure the area, make sure he knows where everything is, all the angles. Plan out where he wants to lay his own traps. Bells, at least, in case the dead get past the perimeter.

He sits down on the floor and lets the kitten out, watching as she totters around the room, mewing and exploring everything. She hops onto the desk to tap the books delicately with her paw, tail raised high like a banner. Carver leans his head against the wall, watching her. He'll hide weapons in these walls, he thinks. Show Rosita and Paul where they are in case things go bad. Just in case. They can secure this place, he thinks. They could hold it.

Dulcinea squeaks. Then, to Carver's surprise, she comes back and jumps onto his shoulder. Sticking close this time.

He's there when Rosita comes back, staring at nothing, the kitten chewing on his hair. "You can put me to work," he says softly. "I'll be steadier tomorrow."