"Oh, cool. Not in prison, but still trapped in the middle of fuckin' nowhere." It comes out lukewarm, though, because the novelty of apparently being revived from death is a pretty big fucking silver lining.

She's sure it's a really long story, filled with the answers to questions she isn't immediately ready to ask. She needs to just focus on the now. Woof. She rubs her hands over her face again, then flexes her fingers, becoming increasingly aware of the rest of her body.

He did say we. York hesitates, tries to ignore Delta's probability scenarios on the likelihood of all the other Freelancers' deaths. 

"Who's we, exactly?"