Maybe it was the argument. Maybe it was something to do with her self imposed sleep deprivation... whatever it was, Abigail had changed once she woke up the next morning and wasn't showing any signs of reverting back to her usual self.

Firstly, Abigail had withdrawn from the rest of the group. Gone was the word vomit, the galloping ramble in a southern drawl and the erratic movements around Goodnight; she was around in the evenings to make small talk and oft deflected prying questions by claiming to have had a very dull, average day for every single day during the last few weeks. When she didn't [I]need[/I] to be around the others she oftentimes wasn't; rather she existed in the distant peripheries of their lives. Ellen and Hans had passed Abigail on their way out to create a shooting range. Zephyr had noticed Abigail and Brooks disappearing even further into the woods during one of his treks. Angeline had spotted her perched on an old shipping container, crunching through an expired pack of Reese's pieces and watching as the woman tended to her garden. When approached she was evasive and uncomfortable. She doesn't talk much anymore and actively avoided conversation where she can until everyone got the gist that she wanted to be left alone.

From a practical standpoint, Abigail was getting worringly good in her training. Since she kept getting hurt due to her magic, her pain tolerance was gradually increasing. She could run further, faster and hit harder than she was able to when she started, but the improvement was relative to the fact she's still much smaller and lighter than her peers. She slept like the dead whenever they had training that day. Magically, she had a much better control over her fire; jets of sharp violent flames that could reach three metres ahead of her, narrow and white-hot, striking her mark time and time again. But the casting had disfigured her hands into warped masses of scar tissue. Her fingers were stiff and hard to move, and the skin needed to air out in order to avoid sealing together as her body healed itself at a rapid pace. She was constantly, ceaselessly starving. She ate whatever she could get her hands on and still had this gaunt, famished appearance despite getting just as much - more if you included the smuggled sympathy snacks from Billy or Brooks - than everyone else. 

Abigail also started reading a lot. That was a weird, left-field development that very few were expecting. Upon finding the remnants of the library it appears Brooks gave her a book and a notepad to write on. She seemed to be researching something, perhaps working on something based on the book. She oftentimes found nooks and crannies to hide in and work on it. She also had a litany of other weird projects going on as well; for example there's an entire claw machine in pieces way off by the sportswear section that Abigail has been fastidiously defending and yelling at anyone who messed with it, to the point that she's firmly established herself as the weird antisocial kid best left alone. Since nobody except the odd bootlegger or two goes through the Sports section, it's been idly glanced at and kept an eye on by a handful of people but whatever it is she's doing is slow progress as she doesn't always work on it. She's collecting old beer bottles under the broken staircase leading to the boutiques. She waters a patch of rock pansies growing out of a cash register every couple of days. She's been watching an ants nest by one of the benches in the food court with due diligence, and wherever there's a broken tile or shelf or something similar that's had its pieces carefully arranged to reform it back into its original shape (without the adhesive to repair it), chances are one was looking at the traces of Abigail's handiwork.

Abigail remained silent throughout the discussion of the plan, looking from face to face and soaking it all in. When there was a lull in the conversation she fidgeted with her mottled fingers and looked at the map. "Y'all forgot about the janitors n' guards n' shit," she eventually mumbled. A far cry from her usual boisterousness. "All I can do is set fire to 'em. 'Cept Audrey said the alarm's activated manually, so somebody's gotta get to the alarm n' set it off before any cops even know we're there. But people have phones n' shit too."

"Before y'all even start stealin' stuff you gotta find and shut up every single feller in and outside the building so's they don't call the cops on us. I don't know how, though."