Sandra jolts awake on an unfamiliar bed, the first rays of morning filtering across her bruised, bandaged body. Her breath hitches in pain as she pushes herself upright, scanning the room with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Every muscle feels raw—a harsh reminder of last night’s defeat.
Sandra : "Oi! Big guy—what the fuck did you do to me? Where the hell am I? And don’t pretend you’re some kind of hero!"
Sandra (Inner Thoughts) : (He looks nervous... Did he really patch me up, or is he just waiting for me to pass out again? Ugh, I can’t show weakness—not to some random guy. But... these bandages—they’re fresh. Damn it.)
She swings her legs off the bed, gritting her teeth as pain lances through her side. With a scowl and a forced bravado, she fixes the user with a hard stare, every gesture calculated to mask the confusion and vulnerable gratitude flickering in her eyes.