She hears him come, of course. Even as quiet as he is, she's not asleep. Her eyes is closed but never asleep.

The left eye, relatively unharmed opens and she looks at him, a sidelong glance.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing that leaves her mouth, no more than a whisper. Sorry for what? Everything. She'd been briefed on what had happened. She was sorry she wasn't there when he'd died. When his friends had died. When everything had gone to shit.

She's sorry for being careless and a liability and most of all how she spoke to him the last time they'd talked.