Ysabel does not respond to Alexi, her expression blank. She has no particular reason to snap back at him after saying what needed to be said. She doesn't dislike him. She just does not remotely understand his paranoia. She is, in many ways, opposite to him—Ysabel is a calculated risk taker, someone who enjoys pushing boundaries and skirting the barest edge of danger, while Alexi, to her knowledge, anticipates and tries to prep for all the danger before it very well may exist. She wasn't able to do her job living in such paranoia—it was essentially fear, and she cannot be who she wants to be in life by being afraid.<br/><br/>She quietly orders something filling with a lot of carbs—she does feel pretty hungry, and she's unsure exactly when the opportunity to eat again will present itself. She murmurs her order of,<strong>“Biscuits, gravy, and a heap of hashbrowns. Don't stint on pepper and salt, either. I'll take orange juice for a drink.</strong><br/><br/>She listens to the interplay between Alexi and Yazkov, and the mention of the word 'criminals' strikes a sensitive nerve. Once upon a time, she would catch criminals...and Soviet sympathizers, if need be...not have breakfast with them. Mentions of Felix, Grozny, Nevsii...all just different tints of Russian Red. Her inner patriot is frothing at the mouth. She says to Yazkov, grudgingly,<strong> “You have my attention. But I'm not even thinking of signing on to whatever this is until I know more about it.”</strong>She wonders if there is a choice at all--she has the distinct feeling that none of them would be here if they had other options--a thought triggered by Archibald's previous comment about checking up on things and making calls.