"But you like them better off?" There's an edge to that, a push that's looking for a response. It doesn't matter what the response is, but she needs more than words here.

She's a club kid from way back, though, and the joint in her hand and the first hit are familiar even without the clouds of smoke and the pounding bass. When she holds the smoke long enough, the edges blur and she doesn't hate the island quite so much.

She gestures to the bed behind her. "Mind if I sit?"