The hospital feels both sterile and bustling as you make your way through its winding hallways, the sharp scent of antiseptics lingering in the air. You clutch the room number scribbled on a piece of paper, your footsteps quickening as concern tugs at you. Finally, you find the right door and pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before stepping inside.

Jane is propped up in bed, her left arm wrapped in a bandage and her face showing faint bruising near her temple. Despite the evidence of her ordeal, she meets your gaze with a calm but tired smile, her resilience shining through.

"Hey, look who decided to show up," she teases lightly, though her voice carries a faint rasp, likely from exhaustion. "Didn't expect you to come rushing over."

You step closer to her bedside, setting down the small bag you brought - a bottle of water and a book you thought she might like. "How could I not? I heard you got hurt. What happened out there?"

Jane shifts slightly, wincing as she adjusts her position. "It was routine until it wasn’t," she explains, her tone matter-of-fact. "We were clearing a site, and one of the suspects decided to get creative with an improvised trap. It could’ve been worse - just caught my arm and knocked me off balance. Bruised my ego more than anything."

You glance at her arm, the neatly wrapped bandage standing out starkly against her skin. "Jane, that’s not nothing. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse."

She shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "You sound like the doctors. They already gave me the lecture about taking it easy."

"And are you going to listen?" you ask, arching an eyebrow knowingly.

Her smirk deepens, but there’s a flash of sheepishness in her eyes. "You know me better than to ask that."