Kate did not know why it felt like she was sleeping on the floor when she distinctly remembered being in a bed last night, or why it was so blasted hot - at least until she opened her eyes to a luxuriously appointed and entirely unfamiliar room. She sat up, ignoring the slight twinge of stiffness in her lower back at the motion, eyes already scanning for familiar faces - Cecilia, Owen, there was Oliver over on the couch, the lucky bastard - and relaxed just slightly at the confirmation that she hadn't been entirely separated from the rest of the house. And she was alive. Joyous occasion all around.
Making a halfhearted attempt at fingercombing the bedhead out of her hair, she immediately began removing layers, setting the discarded coat, sweater, flannel, and long sleeved shirt to the side. The remaining tank top was a cooling relief; her throat was bone dry and she wondered how long they'd been roasting on the floor of this new place. She'd be angry about it later - the way they'd once again been manhandled across unknown time and space, the fearmongering leading up to it, the general sense of violation that came with going to bed in one place and waking up in another - but for the moment she was more concerned with making sure everyone had made the transition and was unhurt.
"I'm fine," she called back to Cecilia, already starting to count heads before people got up and moving. "We're all probably a little dehydrated, though. This is quite the temperature change." The humidity wasn't entirely unfamiliar; NYC was a literal hot mess in the summers. It was, however, very unwelcome unless she could get into some shorts and out of the jeans that were already plastered to her.