Abby grunts in acknowledgement of the apology and the two of them walk like that in silence for a bit, carrying the stack together. The blankets are a mixture of crochet and knit, the material scratchy against her skin where her shirt sleeves pushed up. They're well loved. She can see spots where they've been darned, sewn back together, patched up. A lot of Jude's Den reminds her of the stadium, actually, the shifters are the same kind of eco-friendly, and creative with any leftovers.

Finally, the kid speaks. Abby eyes him for a moment. Like she thought he's pretty shy, peeking up at her from around the blankets. He's older than she thought he was at first glance now that he's up closer, and she can actually see his face through that mop of hair. He's probably Lev's age, or close to it.

... God. What the fuck is she doing.

"Watching me and not saying anything is weird," she tells him, but not unkindly. Just telling it like it is. "I don't mind if you wanna talk. I'm Abby."