Sabine wasn't going far, just down the hall, away from the noise, but still within shouting range of the door to the soon-to-be kitchen in case of unforeseen danger. Not danger from Will--that was ludicrous, but ceiling cave-ins or black market thug incursions or sudden malice from the station.

Once she'd found a spot along the wall that was relatively clean, she leaned against it and took a sip of the beer. When Will joined her, she handed the bottle to him and began, "Scott's married," and let the full complications of that with what he'd definitely observed settle in.