You shut the door carefully behind yourself, trying not to make too loud of a sound. Sam sits down on the edge of the crappy motel mattress, his eyes shifting to the open book on the bed. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says under his breath, almost like he’s talking to himself. His eyes glance up to you, seemingly to ask your opinion, but notices that you are off. “Hey, you alright?” Sam questions, his eyes shifting from a look of frustration to care.