[Hm. When Abigail speaks, she turns to look at her, arms folding over her chest. There's a gash across her throat, the remnant of a scar in her physical form glowing white. Something in her soul was too stubborn to let go of it, even in this featureless form.]

I'm exactly where I intend to be, if that's what you mean.

[So: in Abigail's apartment. Obviously this was intentional. She leans in close to peer at the other shade, walks a quarter-circle to observe her from another angle.]

You're never at the group shit, [she concludes, tipping her chin up.] The apartment stuff. The grills and . . . whatever. Or at least I don't see you. I didn't even know there was another shade here.