Alfred's invitation to teach her wandless magic sat on her bureau for a day and a half before Jo found the courage to take him up on his offer. She was an entirely different person when he last knew her, one confident enough in her body to share it freely with whomever dared to look. Now, however, Jo felt too vulnerable to be near most without an obscene amount of layers. Gloves (her right one filled with small wooden blocks to help hide her missing fingers) stretched up to her elbows at all times. Any top she wore was immediately buttoned up to her neck to hide the still healing tiny scars from the debris. She looked and felt nothing like herself, and there was no telling when she might return to the way she used to be.

If not for Zachariah, Jo didn't think she would have willingly returned to England at all. Her family was insufferable, each louder and more impossible than the next. They meant well, she knew, but none of them had ever suffered such a tremendous loss. (With the possible exception of Mercury, seeing as he was widowed early in life with small children.) None of them knew how to best comfort her. Fuck, Jo didn't even know half the time how she might best like to be comforted.

Still, she had to put in some sort of effort. If not for herself, then for Zach.

She realized she ought to have sent word to Alfred as the green smoke surrounded her. It was too late now, though, for she was stepping into his flat less than a few seconds later. "Hello," she greeted quietly upon seeing him. "Thank you for having me over ... I'm sorry I'm late."