Sam nods, though his lips press together in a way that anyone who knows him would interpret as less than pleased. He doesn’t begrudge Natalya her way of grieving, saying goodbye, remembering, but it seems like that’s all they’re doing. And even though Rapture’s all but buried and dead, it still casts a shadow that’s hard to see through.

He squeezes her hand gently, tugs her a little closer so that their arms brush together. “Thanks for letting me walk with you.”