“Oh my…”

Ivy remarks, surveying you with a look of mild concern. Her gaze is calm and measured as it sweeps over the state of you: the lipstick smeared across your chin, the pinkish handprints across swollen cheeks... the chain around your neck.

“Harley did quite a number on you, didn’t she?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, but it seems like she expects an answer either way. After all, you had just shown up at her apartment, uninvited.