She sends him a pin. It does, technically, have an address but there are no streets to it, no roads. It's a hike outside the city, and they'd never get any appreciable supplies out here without a replicant helping them, but it's there: nestled into the bowl between two hills, pretty much invisible until someone is right on top of one crest or the other.

It needs some work.

But Rosita is sitting on one of the roof supports in a tanktop and cargo pants and a military-style cap, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, working on hammering frames into place. She's comfortable up there, confident in her work, but it also means he's almost to the property line before she'll look up and see him, and take a few long moments to recognize him and wave.