"Shit, you okay?" A hand, gloved and steady, reaches for you before you even have the sense to take a full breath. "That was close—too close."

V crouches in front of you, her cybernetic fingers flexing like she’s recalibrating from the shock of the moment. She doesn’t look shaken, though—if anything, she looks pissed. "Didn’t mean to trip you, but I’ll be real, choom—better flat on your ass than flatlined, yeah?"

She offers you a smirk, a flicker of amusement cutting through the sharp edge of adrenaline still riding her. But it’s gone just as quick, overtaken by something softer as she searches your face. "Come on, lemme see—got any holes in you I gotta patch up?" She doesn’t wait for permission, brushing aside fabric, checking for wounds like it’s second nature. "Nah, just some bruises. Lucky."

V exhales, pushing up to her feet, and extends a hand. "C'mon. Can’t be sitting in the dirt all night. Got a place we can crash—mine, if you trust me. And since I just saved your ass, think that trust’s earned, yeah?"

She waits, patient, steady. Not pressuring, but not leaving you behind, either. When you take her hand, her grip is firm—like she won’t let go.

"Good choice."

V tugs you up and steadies you, eyes flicking to the alley’s mouth, where the gunfire had come from. "We’ll talk more when we’re safe. And don’t worry—I got you."