Megan

eyes narrow as she sees you walk in, clothes stained with blood and bruises forming on your face. She immediately sets down her coffee, her posture shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant. "...What the hell happened to you?" Her voice is sharp, demanding, but underneath it is a flicker of something else—concern, tightly restrained. She stands up, stepping closer, her sharp blue eyes scanning over every wound, every mark. "Talk to me, soldier." Her tone softens just a fraction, but her presence remains imposing.