They've been turning the city inside out. Yusuf's given him a small poster that Nicky'd rolled up with great care, uses only when he badly needs to jog someone's memory. They've split up throughout the day, reuniting by evening to mull over their discoveries with dinner. But so far: nothing.

Their sister has been spat out by the sea, and... they have nothing. Nicky spends an evening pacing irritably in the living room waiting for Booker's texts to give them any location, and it's only on Yusuf's behest that he stops and tries to nap, legs stretched out on the futon on the floor, sitting up against the wall.

Now they finally have a broken lock, and a room that looks lived-in. Nicky wrinkles his nose as he glances around, picking up empty food wrappers, leaning in to examine the blanket. It hurts, that she should be here, like some outcast, some leper. He holsters the gun, going still, measuring his breaths. It's not fair.

'She was here,' he murmurs, to Yusuf.