Credence is much more receptive when people don't sneak up on him. He looks up, blinking over at the other's voice, and his lips curl into an almost smile. Sam. He likes Sam.

He can't tell him the truth though--why he's up so early. So quickly. It's minimal, but Graves has been trying to help him. Wandless magic only works so well, and healing is, apparently, not his specialty--and their powers are numbed down to a ridiculous amount, but it's something.

How much of that is psycho-somatic?

"Mr. Wilson," he greets softly. The pen gets set down, scarred palms folding on the top of the table. "Thank you for asking, I'm--better." Better is ambiguous, but the truth. His gaze moves to the box, and his head tilts ever so slightly.

"May I ask what you have? Is it another game?"