Wrath's eyes are on his for a moment, flick down to the gun, then back on his. Her own eyes widen, then narrow. One hand slides across her hip, settling onto the hilt of a combat knife strapped to her thigh.

She licks her lips and tastes blood. But she's still alive, and Wrath's never been one to go down without a fight. She pushes herself back up to her feet, listing to the side, back firmly against the wall.

Waiting. He's got the ranged weapon. He's got control of the situation for now.