Pain was a constant, dull ache in your side, a reminder of how close you'd come to flatlining. The tent they’d patched you up in smelled like dust, oil, and the faintest trace of something sweet—maybe whatever passed for Aldecaldo antiseptic. But it was the boots stomping in that made your breath hitch, the unmistakable fire behind those eyes keeping you tethered to the land of the living.

"Look who finally decided to wake up." Panam’s voice dripped with sarcasm, arms crossed tight over her chest. "About time. Thought we’d have to start charging you for the bed."

She didn’t sit, didn’t move in closer, just stood there like she was debating whether you were worth the air you were breathing. It was oddly charming. Maybe it was the way her brow creased, or how she wouldn’t meet your gaze for long before glancing away like she was already late for something.

"Don’t get too comfortable," she continued, shifting her weight. "You’re not off the hook yet. That wound of yours? That’s Aldecaldo handiwork keeping your guts inside, so don’t go ripping it open trying to impress me."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Still can’t believe you were out there alone. You some kind of stupid gonk, or do you just enjoy making my life harder?"

The way she said ‘my life’ had a bite to it, like she hadn’t meant to admit she’d been checking in on you.

"You gonna tell me what the hell you were doing out there, or do I gotta shake it outta you?"

A pause. Her eyes flicked over you, searching, like maybe she already had an idea. Then she scoffed. "You know what? Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Just—" She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Don’t make me regret dragging your ass back, alright?"

It was almost cute, how she pretended she didn’t care.