Croix looked up, spotted the two. He glanced from one to the other - one seemed hurt, both seemed lost - and nodded as he walked toward them. “What’s wrong?” he asked, mostly directed at Devon, who he noticed was having trouble with focus.

And had he said that out loud, Devon would (attempt to) joke that “trouble with focus” was an understatement. Still, he was trying his damnedest. He rubbed the back of his head. “I, uh. Fell. Onto a bed of metal, or something.”

Croix raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He turned back to Sefton, wondering if he would get some sort of elaboration.