With that, Flora takes a slight involuntary step back from the bar.
For a moment, this had almost felt familiar- Her on one side of the bar, the customer on the other, bustling around as she tried to guage information both from the conversation and from whatever wasn't being said- Usually, foremost at her mind was: How dangerous was this person? Were they a legitimate customer, or were they an exterminator?
There ain't no 'sites here, she reassures herself, whatever else is goin' on, it ain't illegal for you to exist, and you ain't done nothin' so you ain't got nothin' to fear from her but the work of training herself out of fifteen years' of one kind of paranoia in favour of whatever countless others are necessary here are too much for her drunk, sleep-deprived mind, and so she only says: "Oh," and hopes she doesn't look too frightened, or that she looks frightened enough, or whatever is the appropriate response.
Suddenly, she has a new understanding for what AJ -naive rich girl, outsider who didn't know when to keep her mouth shut- must have felt when she'd first begun hanging out in Flora's neighbourhood. She remembers how angry she'd been with her for not observing the unspoken rules that everyone in New New York, particularly 'sites like themselves, lived by, and makes a mental note to apologise to her after she sobers up and sorts out all of the other things she probably owes her an apology for.
It isn't as though Seargeant Fallon is the first person she's ever encountered who's committed whatever sort of atrocities she's casually alluding to. But at least in the Arc, people are civilised enough to not admit whatever atrocities they've commited to near-strangers.
She locates a bottle of what's probably at least mostly water at last, and fills Artemis's glass.