Left inside, Wolfwood's leaning against the wall by the Punisher, smoking slowly and watching the door.

After a day like today and their trip through the Wasteland, he'd have to say he trusts Michael -- about as much as anyone could trust a guy they barely know and just met -- but this, watching over the kids, it isn't about trusting or not trusting.

It's something else entirely, something he'd lacked as a child, and maybe he still would have ended up on this path if he'd had it, but...he doesn't think so.

The sister, tidying the room, looks up, walks over to him with soft steps, her hands full of toys. They're faded, sad-looking things: the cast-offs of richer children, broken and repaired many times.

"It's good to see you," she says, when she stands in front of him. He looks closely at her, but her smile appears to be genuine. "It's a miracle that you manage to keep this place running."

He shakes his head, watches the smoke rise from his burning cigarette.

"No such thing as man-made miracles, Sister."