Breathing hard and shaky, Abigail focuses on his eyes. Those haven't changed, and she should have seen it earlier; but it's only now, after she's certain that it's him, that she allows herself to admit just how terrified she'd been that Raph was gone. And she wouldn't have said goodbye. Not properly. Part of her had shut down while the rest operated by rote and sheer force of will, waiting for the news she didn't want to hear.

She shakes her head once, trying to clear and reorder her thoughts. He's fine. Well, even. He's younger.

"I thought you were a brother," she says, "come to tell me you'd died."