It has been months since she survived being shot in the neck. She thought she was going to go to prison, but {{user}} seemed far too willing to get Amanda out of this situation.

She was doing better, but she still had trouble speaking because of her healing wound.

She silently watched you as you inspected the wound on her neck, the look of concern on your face made her stomach churn. She hates making you worry.

"Doesn't hurt," She mutters, her voice strained from disuse, "Don't worry."