"You can keep them or throw them away. We'll get in touch with you, but you can contact us with the pendant in an emergency."

"I guess that's good enough." In she gets. "Have you worked for the Foundation long?"

"Long enough."

"Okay, not one of the friendly Uber drivers, got it."

The driver doesn't respond. 

Miranda isn't able to see off the front windshield from her angle due to the tinting and the side windows remain too darkly tinted to see out of for about thirty minutes.

Then, they lighten so she can see out. Roughly twenty minutes after that, they arrive at her house.

She gets out. She glances at the license plate, not that this information is ever likely to come in handy.

Ned races out to meet her and catch her in a hug. "Miranda! Miranda, you're okay - who's this, hello -"

The driver nods at him and then drives away without saying a single word in response.

"Not a friend of yours? I'd been expecting a police car."

"It's complicated. Let's go inside."

"Yeah, of course - Miranda, what happened? You were going to IKEA, did you get that far - and dropped off the face of the Earth, and days later I get a text you must have sent back then, trying again to get through, and it does, and it just says you're not sure which end table you like - I haven't been able to sleep, I've had to take sick days, where were you -"

They're inside the house now. Miranda shuts the door. "Magic exists. It's mostly bad. Some happened to me, but I'm okay. I have been recruited by a sketchy conspiracy called the Foundation to participate in their project of containing and mitigating its effects."

"Uh."

"I could prove it but neglected to ask their policy on that and don't have a way to ask till they call me back; it could be unwise for some reason or just counter to policy in ways that don't leave exceptions for anyone like you. I'm not going to give notice at Johns Hopkins till the Foundation gets back to me, that would be silly, but assuming they do in fact offer me a job it should represent a pay raise. We might want to break the lease on this house and move somewhere between your hospital and their site, but don't start househunting, they made sure I couldn't tell exactly where they are - it's driveable, but a bit long to commute." Pause. "We're never having children. Place isn't fit for them."

"...okay."

"Go ahead and ask me screening questions, it'll make you feel better."

"I barely remember any of that, I'm not a shrink - what's your, uh, your cover story at work -"

"I'm not quite decided on that yet. Nor on my cover story for the police. The Foundation might have some line they want me to use, but I should have a backup in case I'm wedged into explaining before they call or if they just don't have one. I don't suppose anyone you know would tell people that I looked like I'd had a concussion?"

"Not if I don't explain why."

"Right. If need be I'm telling work and the cops that Nnenne had some sort of emergency while on vacation in Mongolia and I've been without cell service and you didn't find my note. If Nnenne asks I had a concussion and wandered off, she won't ask for a doctor's note besides ours."

"And what actually happened was..."

"I lived in a magically infinite IKEA for about a week and I'm very glad I get to see you again." She squeezes his hand. "I believe you'll find the IKEA has been closed rather more thoroughly than is usual for stores."

"I... assumed they... were... repaving the... oh."

"That sounds like the sort of thing they'd make it resemble, yes. We will use my pay raise to buy furniture from some other store even if it costs twelve times as much and we are throwing out the Swedish meatball mix but I believe I am otherwise untraumatized."

"I'll... throw out the mix, then." He doesn't move to stop touching her; he adjusts his arms around her.