I've been better, but I've been worse. [She looks at him with a little quirk of her lip, not quite the smile the flowers won but still something genuine, which she figures must be worth more than a front. She doesn't want him to worry, though she likes that he does. If he'd showed up drunk or despairing again, she wouldn't admit that; in a way that's always been her problem, prioritizing future suffering over present anything. But he needed it, and Cameron is good at being needed, if she's good at anything.]

It was a rough spring in the City, [she elaborates calmly, a bit of time granting some distance from the events; the dead thing at her window, the dead man on the street, the dangers always at the periphery of life here. She heads into the kitchen as she speaks, grabbing the first thing that comes to hand-- a plain mug, as chance has it-- to put the flowers in. She sets it down and doesn't come back at once, an open invitation for him to join her a little further indoors.] Nothing unmanageable, mainly.

[She pauses. Some things are easier to say through a wall.]

You're looking... good.