She gives a semi-invested "huh", then her eyes take on a thirst as he swipes the taste from his lips. She's going to have to beat him to that at some point tonight.

Her arm brushes against his incidentally as she turns to retrieve her glass. She sets the bottle in its place and carries it to the edge of the deck, where she can sip her whiskey and scan the shoreline. It's an objectively beautiful view; Jess wonders how long until that's true for her. A couple weeks is all she'll give it. And dozens more scans like this, every day, searching for what isn't there. She doesn't have to ask to know that Frank's running the same checks, and Rocky is their failsafe. Three layers of security, excluding general isolation. In a perfect world, she could feel safe three times as fast.

To Jess, there's nothing out there.