"That's true," said Ellie, who was picturing glorious and well-funded exploits. Sort of like receiving a grant with no effort at all.
She often had questions about how things were run -- it was hard not to have them, when you weren't immune and weren't readily told anything. It was true that some things about the safehouses and the way they were operated struck Eloise as poorly thought out; but she imagined it was like any refugee situation, where ethics became something fluid, constantly manipulated. It was fascinating, in a way. The easiest way to navigate these situations, Ellie thought, was by considering the people rather than the infrastructure.
"An architect," she repeated, meeting Brennan's eyes.
It was easy to listen to him. He had a very straightforward way of putting things that appealed to her own similar demeanor. At mention of the 'ones that cry', Ellie felt her brow furrow; she blinked, frowning, and let out a small sound of agreement. "Mm. Friends? Wakers always call the other infected to them."
Eloise found them the most interesting, for obvious reasons. In fact -- should things ever proceed far enough, they were first on her list for a more clinical observation.
"I don't know," she told Brennan honestly. "Do you mean... Die? Or collapse because they're.... worn down far enough?" She paused to think. "I've seen infected unable to move due to physical injury that has incapacitated them. Muscle deterioration. That sort of thing."