Rags knows bullies. He knows the concept of it because of the boys in the Clave who come at him with fists and words and everything else that they can do to get the scraps of coin and bread from him. It's why he learned to run and hide. Rags has always been little. Too small to defend himself. But he's quick. He's small. Able to find other ways to get away.

He doesn't understand some of what she's talking about. Some of it reminds him of the breach, but it's like a dream that slips through his fingers. Trying to collect mist in his hands. He doesn't have a clear picture of what she's saying.

But he can feel that anger. The despair. The isolation.

"That's fucking terrible," he says, but it sounds like an understatement. In reality, it's just an opportunity for her to keep going.