She froze in her tracks at the sound of that -- electrocution, christ -- and feeling him flinch, Gabrielle moved her hand away. She felt and saw it at the same time: her fingertips were stained with red, and a part of her writhed, feeling very deeply sick. Wally Kirezi. He'd seemed like such a calm and level man on the journals. But that's what you learned, wasn't it? People were never exactly what they seemed--

Grabbing hold of the flashlight, Gaby focused on rolling up his sleeve and illuminating his wounds; she sucked in a breath through her teeth once she saw the extent of the damage. The skin was lacerated, a mangled mess where metal had torn through it.

"God," she whispered, under her breath. "Why-- why were you fighting?"

She wasn't qualified for this. She wasn't a nurse! But everything was happening at once across the city, so she set Matthew straight on the couch and scurried off to fetch her first-aid kit.

When she came back, warm wet cloth and disinfectant and bandages in hand, she immediately plopped down next to him. "I work with chisels and knives a lot," she explained, soothingly. "I keep accidentally nicking myself. We'll patch you up, alright?"

The small cuts were no big deal, but she was worried about that arm.