( There’s more details and context to seize at there, if Abella’s come from some sort of fucked-up battle royale, but Astrid’s chewing on her lip, her boot jogging against the floor. Trying to decide what the right approach is, before she finally settles on: )

I mean, in fairness, you’re not safe here either. I don’t know if that’s any consolation? ( This is a bizarre consolation. But it’s an attempt, her voice warm and trying for reassuring. ) I mean, look at the towers we just had to rebuild, and parts of the city are still fucked. There’s demons and blighted animals and darkspawn and an evil god-sorcerer-guy who wants to kill us. You’re not not in danger. Technically, like. We could go get bitten by some fucked-up Fade-touched bears if that’d make you feel better.