The return to the warehouse was a grim, silent trek. The adrenaline that had carried them out of the mine bled away with every step, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and the sharp ache of injuries. The grey daylight did little to lift their spirits, only serving to illuminate the grime, blood, and scorch marks that covered them.
They were met at the perimeter by a tense, relieved Beatrix and Dori. Beatrix's eyes widened behind her glasses at the state of them, her clinical mind immediately switching to triage mode. Dori rushed forward to help support Emma, her Concealment dropping in her concern.
"Medical bay, now," Beatrix ordered, not even a greeting. "Aya, help me. Dori, get the sterile kits."
