'We're not that lucky' isn't even funny in her head, it just feels like the beginning of a dull headache and she presses her hands to her face for a moment, palm pressed close and fingers splayed. There's something-- 'dehumanizing' feels like the wrong word but it's the closest one she has, thinking of her body, hands touching something empty that she left behind, without her permission or her participation--

It's not about Hilmi, in that moment; there are few people who could have been in that position and not stirred this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She can't think about it.

"He'd know." If he were dead. He'd know. "You're bleeding," she says, in lieu of elaboration, numbly.