As a dysfunctional twelve-year-old with limited exposure to the outside world until just a few months ago, her leaps in logic might not always be the most expected or the most empathetic. The little interpersonal community of children at Transigen didn't have much to balance them, but being fair with one another when their captors certainly weren't was a mostly-unanimous decision they came to together.

Her expression doesn't change very much at the comment, but there's a gentle rise and fall of her shoulders — a tiny, barely perceptible shrug. No, it wasn't very nice of them, not at all, but this is the way things are here. She doesn't like it, but there is nothing she can do about it. Not yet. Later, she will give the gun in her backpack to a man here who seemed like he was a better shot from a further range than her, and she'll be watching for the opportunity to join him whenever that shot rings out, but... aside from that, not much.

For now, there is only her, and the new woman.

After a hesitant beat, she says, "I like your hair."

It's pretty, and different.