She inclines her head in agreement. There's something about this place that is designed to be so streamlined and convenient in assimilation: the pamphlet, the Inn and its arrival room, the job center. When America was whole and real in her world, it wasn't so welcoming of new arrivals. The sea ripples, reminding her (a little) of the Pacific and home--but it's not home, and she can't stay there. It's not where she belongs, and she has things she has to take care of back in Boston.

Revolutions and wars aren't supposed to be paused like television shows. Momentum is important.

"Yeah. Security has its price, though. I haven't seen real civilization in five years," Sonja admits. New York's fucked up status quo, even if it's running, doesn't count as civilized to her.

She loosely shrugs one shoulder. It's not hers.