There's a few moments before Grace answers the door; from the timing, it's likely she just crawled out of bed. That, and she looks like she hasn't left her bed in days. Her hair is lanky and unclean, her face unwashed, smudges of days-old eyeliner still visible in the creases under her eyes-- and the darkness there is deeper and more pronounced than usual. She's in her pajamas. A long-sleeved thermal shirt and shorts, a blanket haphazardly gathered around herself, as if to protect whoever's at the door from having to witness her in her current state of undone-ness.

And from the way her expression changes when she answers it, it's clear that whoever she was expecting that knock to have come from, it wasn't William.

"Oh," she breathes, lightly, disappointment tinged with genuine relief coloring her voice. Her dark eyes blink, once, as if confirming this is all real. It is. She doesn't seem entirely convinced. "Are you okay?"

That's the first thing everyone's getting asked, after what they've all been through.