["People aren't afraid here, are they?" The question hits a—not a nerve, exactly. No, not that—but it definitely reminds Clarke of something she knows all too well. This world differs from hers a great deal. Despite its vast open space, it reminds her more of the isolated bunker of Mount Weather, where all the people fooled themselves into believing that their peace was worth the suffering of others.

Everything about this world—New Amsterdam and beyond—seems like an ugly piece of art painted to look like something else. They aren't afraid, but that's because they've told themselves that they don't need to be. Because anyone who says otherwise is erased, scrubbed away.

Should Clarke tell her the truth? And how does one define that truth?

She decides to choose her words carefully.]

There's no war here. And no need for anyone to fear anything similar. [Clarke knows that when she speaks of war, people think of loud explosions, weapons, and more. She sees it as inevitable even if two groups are small and opposed to one another.]

But no world is truly peaceful. [That's what it comes down to. Clarke doesn't leave off on that. It would be a poor ending.] Is Ergastulum where you come from? Is it a city like this one?