Oh, thank goodness. There she is, and she looks awful, but that doesn't matter. Even the way she jerks her hand back - bewildering and slightly hurtful as it is - is easily forgiven. She's awake; she's talking.

"He just went out a few minutes ago," Greta replies as Iman starts to ease herself upright. She reaches out a hand, awkwardly hovering again, wanting to help but not sure how it would be received. Iman doesn't see the gesture - doesn't even look, probably on purpose. It tears at her to watch Iman struggling, in obvious pain, but Greta forces herself to sit back, lowering herself into the nearest chair. Much as she wants to just pull her friend into her arms, it can wait. She doesn't want to accidentally make things worse.

"But he's coming back soon," she continues, clenching her hands together in her lap. "He just wanted to get more tools for your--your arm." She resists the urge to look down at it - now, she's certain it would be rude to stare - instead keeping her gaze focused on Iman's face.