A rumbling growl rises in Logan's throat. "Damn it."

He glances out at the shadows, then back at the kid. She looks small and tense against the glow of the fire. Blood-and-pain is a bright copper note in the smoke and dust smell of the room.

The shadows seem to twitch in the corner of his vision. He can almost hear them moving. Breathing.

"Kid," he glances sideways at her, "your arm. I don't need you bleedin' out on me here. How bad is it?"