She might have been starting to doze off again, but before she can reach unconsciousness, the swaying and bumping of their landing jostles her back awake again. Her shoulder still hurts. Still throbbing, inflamed and angry. The blood is making her filthy hospital gown cling to her skin, all tacky. But she's still alive. So there's that.

It's a good thing she thought to steal the boots off that dead security guard earlier, otherwise she'd be in for a cold fucking trek to that cabin. She's still freezing her literal ass off — the gown is thin, barely held onto her by a few strings in the back — but she doesn't let her discomfort show on her face. There's just the pinch of her eyebrows, like she's mildly inconvenienced by being half-drained of blood and treading unprotected through the snow.

She doesn't say much to Firefly. Saving her energy, maybe. Or just not particularly friendly. Some of both, really, though the truth is that it's taking all her focus to stay upright and conscious as they walk. It feels like an eternity before the cabin comes into sight, even though it can't be more than several minutes. She squints at the little building, her vision blurring a little, the world going out of focus before her knees suddenly give out and she slumps down into the snow.