Halfway to the bakery counter, Jim stops. Years? He starts moving again, but slower, looking at her and the shop both a bit more closely. Like there'll be answers, instead of just-- what it is. Ordinary, unremarkable, just like everything else in this place where everyone wants to be comfortable and homey.

"I'm not visiting," he tells her. "I'm here because of the mass disappearances. I'm investigating, like you are."