It's as Nick turns to head to his room that Rey calls back; he stops, his brow knitting even before he knows what's wrong. There is something wrong though -- he doesn't need his detective instincts to tell him that.

His brow is still knit as she opens the door, quiet apprehension weaving into his every synthetic feature: it laces through his jaw and pulls it slightly agape, widens his eyes as his manufactured muscles are tugged with immediate concern. He doesn't even get the chance to speak as she points out her arm, but that doesn't mean the obvious question is out of his mind.

"What the hell happened, Rey?" Nick asks, putting a hand on her good shoulder, trying to guide her to the den. The city has been a mess lately, but it takes a lot to injure someone as tough as she is.