Rosie keeps quiet, letting Sabrina talk; the act of it seems to be beneficial, somehow, that slow scattering of thoughts and feelings that don't need to be cobbled together into a cohesive whole right now. Still, bits of it settle like something cold in her own gut, this talk of trading and bargains to be made. It sounds too much like what she'd heard of Nick's sacrifice back home, the one that got perverted here in Darrow when it had all happened again--and with a far lengthier and more destructive result. Rosie has no powers, nothing useful that she thinks can be used to stop such a thing, but she knows in her heart she'd do everything capable to keep it from occurring again to another person she loves.

Glimpsing Lisbeth as they leave the warehouse, Rosie catches her eye, mouthing a silent thank you over Sabrina's head as she leads her towards the still-waiting taxi. Once they settle, once Sabrina's curled in against her once more, Rosie reminds the driver of her address and turns her attention back to the girl in her arms. "You don't have to be sorry," she says at last, combing her fingers through Sabrina's hair as she rests against her chest with her eyes closed tight. "That...I understand that. Not wanting to put us in danger, not wanting to have any of the places you know tainted by whatever's got Marcus."

She glances up at the driver, looking for any curiosity or reaction, but in the manner of so many Darrow natives accustomed to the strangeness of the city and the equally baffling oddity of its transplanted inhabitants, he simply keeps his eyes on the road.

"But we need you, we need to know you're here and safe and alright. You're..." She pauses, her throat gone tight. "You're our Sabrina."