Somewhat used to prowling through the ridiculous wreckage of New York City when something calls for it, calls for her to leave the sanctuary of the upstate island, Benji-- hates doing it, actually, not the most conventionally brave person in the world, or she doesn't think so. Certainly not especially physical. But she makes a distressed sound when the building shakes that second time, and it's enough to get her moving, then, more or less on all fours away from the ledge with coat dragging along in the dust before she pushes herself to her feet.

'It', the stranger had said. Not who. It. Something tugs at the back of her mind, quickly patched over with the logic that why not, why couldn't the DoEA or the DHS come up with something like this--

No, you'd know. Someone would know.

But there is no time to think on it right now. Thinking when jumping between buildings is a terrible idea. Thinking on it and snapping herself into lucidity would make jumping completely unnecessary, but this is a thing she will have to facepalm over later as she shoves the questions out of her mind as she peers over the edge of the rooftop, then towards their destination. She climbs, then, up onto the edge of the rooftop, feeling slightly more reckless and certain than she has any right to be usually, and--

It's not quite a step off the ledge, it's a leap, reaching, but there is some reliance on faith, trust, and pixie dust. She drops as much as she propels forward, but her hands do find cold steel, the structure groaning and rattling, and she-- simply freezes there once she finds footing, as if disbelieving that she made it and suddenly petrified of heights now as a result.

But she also twists, looking for Wolfgang, to help if something is going wrong--