The table in Rodeo’s trailer is small. Too small for the four of them to be gathered around comfortably, so Noa has taken a place just behind, her hip leaned against the back of one of the bench seats, and she bends only to pick up one of the warm bowls, inhaling the smell like it just might calm her nerves. There are very few things that can rattle her cage and set her to feeling like her mooring has come loose, but the circumstances they’re facing could easily be the thing to do it. It could, but it isn’t. As much as there is fear and sadness that laps at the edges of her, there is twice as much resolve to keep those things from swallowing her, from rendering her incapable of anything.
She is not a woman built to wallow, and it only strengthens her to see the determination she feels reflected in the faces of the company around her. They’re all feeling something on some level no doubt.
Noa only raises an eyebrow at first when Addie speaks, chewing things over before she says anything herself. “We’re going to need force, no matter how we figure to do it,” she reasons evenly. “Stealth may get us in and near, but they got enough guards that we need to be ready to retaliate or overpower.” She sounds confident, but she would feel more confident if she weren’t grasping at what seems logical, if she had concrete knowledge to work with.
“We can’t let ‘em know we’re knocking at their door too soon either, ‘cause I ain’t going to rule out the possibility that they’ll put a bullet in each of our guys before we can get to ‘em.” And likely round up a good chunk of the Hounds at the end of it all. There’s no room for error.