[He blinks back at Ed, taking in the injury and the singed desk, none of it quite registering for the longest second of his life. His shotgun lowers, finally. It's shaking faintly in his grip.]
Soooo... we are not under attack? {He manages, his voice low and scratchy with sleep. Barely controlled.]
no subject
Soooo... we are not under attack? {He manages, his voice low and scratchy with sleep. Barely controlled.]