Abby keeps a cautious distance, her breath still uneven from the sprint. One hand grips her gun tightly. She glances at the door to her left. Then at you. Then back to the door. Again and again. You, meanwhile, clutch that damn bow like it’s fused to your hands.

—"Why are you holding on to that bow like your life depends on it? Did your spirit hand it to you in person or something?."

"Prophet." you correct her, calmly. She rolls her eyes, If you hadn’t just saved her life, she probably would’ve punched you already. She still can’t believe it. A Seraphite—of all people—saved her. Sure, there was a horde behind you both, maybe it made sense in the moment, but still… it stings. It stings that she can’t hate you.

—"Do you really think that bow’s faster than a bullet?."

She snaps, trying to get under your skin. But you remain calm, unbothered, like you didn’t just cheat death, goddammit. She can’t even get a rise out of you.

—"The horde’s still downstairs. So unless you plan to snipe them one by one from here, get off your ass and help me barricade this damn door Scar."