Octavia finished drying off, enough to shift away from them to reach for the clothes. For the sweater. She looked it over.

(Her skin barely felt like her own, and she could tell by looking at the sweater it would cling to her like a second one, and feel just as unfamiliar.)

(It is really just a sweater.)

She moved to pull it on over her head, but her face had gone a little... blank.