It was polite of him to commiserate with her. It made her feel more comfortable about him asking about her injuries; which were of course minor compared to the caliber of what his were last she laid eyes on him. "Scratches." Said she, though some were gashes. She was not one who, in the face of somebody who had suffered more, would seek to air a list of grievances many would've longed for in place of their much worse conditions after Russia. "You were worse than me."
She decided then that if they were fated to know one another in this building, because of the intricate way her and a few others were woven together because of their stories, she may as well have the nerve to look him in the face.
"But at least you're walking now. That's good. My name is Lily, by the way, completely normal, boring girl most of the time."