Sam's flat mask takes no flak from Jo's initial assault, although it certainly registers within him the strike he's made. One moment more to think about what he was seeing probably would have spared her the question, but he had just issued it forth without preamble and it's no wonder she's upset about it. People don't memorialize for fun. It's not some cheeky reminder of a wild night or a silly means-nothing pluck off a wall from the same as everyone else portfolio hanging on the wall.

He swallows and lets her idle, lets the foot off the gas a little. He's processing, too, trying to put together so many pieces scattered throughout his brain. The program had been pitched but Sam hadn't bought any of the positive reinforcement; it had all reeked of fear behind tight, wide smiles. Whatever's happening here, Sam can tell it's no good. Initially, he's relieve Jo sees it, too. How that realization will hit later he can't say.

"How do they punish people?" At the question, blunt, Sam finds himself becoming that much more stoic and reserved. He hates the idea of suffering — most people do — but there is a particularly scarred over part of his heart that aches every time he considers the affect of someone's agency and safety being forfeit for the sake of someone else's war.