Bright blue eyes snap open wide, and a sudden rush of adrenaline forcing a sleeping frame to wake. Droplets of sweat form on and below the brow, sliding down slicked skin. It feels cold. Blankness steers across the mind until it registers that it feels. It feels? How can that be? All too soon the waves of realization crash onto shore, and she’s grounded once more. She’s still here, but how can that be? Confusion sets in before panic, though the latter isn’t allowed judging by a man’s appearance in the room. He tells her he’s glad that she’s awake now, but she’s still confused.
The events rush back to her, practically sucker-punching her in the gut with them. She shouldn’t be alive. She thought she was finished. Why was she still here? Anger begins to seep in alongside consciousness, but it’s likely a byproduct of confusion. Why did it happen this way? She needed so many answers but would get absolutely none. Her attention could barely be torn away from the recall of her failure, not even when she’s presented with the friends who had supposedly brought her here. She barely responds, as if she’s mentally somewhere else. Something is on her mind, and it certainly has nothing to do with anyone else present. The team gives her reassurances that they’re glad she’s alright, that they’re glad she’s still with them, and things of the like. For whatever reason, it irritates her further, but she speaks not a word. She simply thanks them, flatly, and soon ( but not soon enough ) they’re on their way out. However, one stays behind. She is in no mood for him.
