Roman looks down between his hands, at the liquid swilling in the bowl. Water. Water, the lifeblood of their entire camp, the entire city, the reason behind everything they do. The reason people cut deals with the Capitol and with the Dogs alike.
Variables are stewing in his mind. Too many of them, as he listens carefully to the other three. Part of him wishes he were just at home, playing chess with his daughter, resting his head against Maggie's shoulder. But there's an aching hole where Sasha's father and Rome's brother and Valya's uncle used to be, and they need to get him back.
"Medical. That's a thought. We got a few doctors came over during the bombing—maybe we could lean on them? Anyone know them?" Everything right now is about leaning and influence. Like the Bratva used to do. "I like the idea of Ruth up top if she's up for it. Get her some of her best students, maybe they could keep them busy and prevent too many cats and ghouls getting out."
Rome's already picturing that explosion, still thinking out loud, as they all are. "They're not gonna let just anyone drive up with some bombs either. And we don't have any bazookas to shoot from afar like those patrolmen do. If we can Trojan horse this shit, put someone they recognise and trust at the wheels of a truck, even if it's against their will..."