Reshad sits, the deliberate care with which she'd entered the room extending to that motion.

As she reads the orders, her eyes widen and her lips tighten - appropriately into a flat slash of an expression, rather than a smile.

"Nasty, Flute," she mutters. "Not even a warning for your allies.

But discussion can wait until the others answer the summons. "Tea?" she offers, rising again, heading for the galley. Sasha already has some, but Reshad wants something to do with her hands.