[She can only stare at the building they've left behind once she's certain they've reached a safe distance, the doors and windows now blotted out by inky black, and she feels something catch in her throat. Surely there were mutants who were capable of something of that scale, but she knows it was something else entirely— the oppressive weight of whatever it was that had made its home in that building can still be felt even now, makes the muscles between her shoulders feel tight.

She exhales, dropping her gaze to Charles as he wraps his hand.]

I think Kansas is worlds away.

[She drops to one knee so that she's close to eye-level with his hand, taking his wrist and pulling it towards her— firm without being rough, her jaw set into a determined line.]

Let me see that. You say all of that so casually, like almost being eaten is normal.

[Of course, who are they to say what's normal? She holds the fabric of his coat tight against the wound to apply pressure, glancing up at him again, hesitant.]

... it's good to see you, too. You have good timing, as usual.