Across the night-shushed City, there was a stretch of road that Evey found during her arrival here - during the time before John Preston's quiet shelter kept her. Walking it had cleared her mind in the past, and tonight she'd hoped to work the same magic on its now familiar path. Her head was too full of conflict for her to sleep, and Agreeable Apartments felt less like a home and more like a punishment. In short, she needed space and time and quiet.
But as she reached the far end of the road, Peter's distress nearly knocked her off her feet. She didn't try to call to him; she knew he was too deep in his own mind, knew it instinctively. Instead, she turned and ran, her eyes sweeping ahead in hope of a late night cab somewhere. No such luck, no bright yellow hope, and she ran. It still took her 23 minutes to get to Peter's door, and when she found it locked, she didn't let that stop her. She was in his apartment moments later.
Her reserved British upbringing could go to hell. She threw her arms around Peter's shuddering form, and said nothing at all.