She is too busy surveying the damage to notice what he's picked up, too busy cataloging what she'll need again, what they'll need again, and how to get it. How to disappear again, how to evade the people who had tracked them to the motel.

"Easier said than done," she mutters with a wince as she tries (futilely) to avoid walking on broken glass. She shakes her head, and a few more shards of glass fall from her hair. The gun she keeps at her side. "The woman's pockets. I thought I saw car keys."