Willa listens as she moves around the kitchen, pouring the milk into a pan and lighting the flame of her little propane stove before peeling a Hershey bar out of its wrapper. She chops it with a knife rather than breaking it into tidy rectangles, and dumps the bits of chocolate into the milk. At first mention Willa wonders if she ought to explain that she wouldn't be going anywhere near Bishop's bed anymore, to see if that lowers her position somehow, but it instantly seems petty in the face of what she presumes to mean that Noa's husband has been killed. The ever present doom of the virus could be the cause, but if he'd been counted among the officers, the odds are at least even that his end had been untimely in a different way.
"Sorry," she professes, "about your husband. I... Bode and I, we weren't really married. I left when it was getting obvious that he wasn't gonna ask, and then I married someone else." Willa offered a sad sort of smile, taken by the strangeness of slipping into her past like a winter coat that had laid forgotten over the summer. "And now he's... gone, and I'm trying to get to know whoever Bishop is, all over again." The wooden spoon keeps the contents of the pot moving, still swirling a little when Willa reaches into a cupboard for the two mugs her house came equipped with. "So I kind of doubt I'm as high as you might think I am, but if it means I'm not expected to start taking in whatever strays want a bedwarmer for a night, I'll appreciate however long you wanna keep that information to yourself."