Walking into this train car, down here below the ground, Solomon can see the draw, a little.
He of all people can understand the desire to exist outside of what is established up above, the desire to quit pretending that things will ever be anything like what they were before. He can understand the desire, most of all, to be unfettered, though the addicts down here have their own kind of ties that bind. Before the end, he only ever took the very barest part in the things that kept most men in place, so he gets that.
Still, all of that understanding doesn't mean that he's happy to know, day to day, that his sister is living under ground with dangerous people and even more dangerous things inside herself. He's not a caretaker by nature, not someone who believes in coddling or in imposing his will - but Solomon would give Torrie everything, if he thought that she would accept it. That's just how it always has been.
When she comes in to hug him Solomon opens up his wide wingspan and collects her without hesitation. More than anything he's always been comfortable in that body that betrayed him so early on, like friends who came to blows and came out of it all the closer for the altercation. His arms cross behind her shoulders and he holds tight. He hugs like he lives, all the way, all in, with a singular focus. He does feel her tremors, and he feels just how little of her there is within his arms, though they've both always been thin. His laugh rumbles through them both, hushed in the dark and a bit grim, but never all the way stopped. "Is that what's all the rage down here these days?" he asks. "Face soup with garnish? Face ceviche?"
Without letting go, Solomon reaches backwards into his pack and pulls from the top the promised box of Thin Mints. "Here I am thinking this is good stuff."