Gracelyn sat down and took a shot of gin. She couldn't get over the fact that she handled a deceased person. She was no newbie to death. In fact she loved the pain, whether she was giving or receiving it. But the bodies she saw, the limp injured folks, it disturbed her. She watched Freya tumble like a ragdoll, her arms bending in ways they shouldn't have. It troubled her. She shook it off and took another shot. This probably wasn't good for her.

 When they were traveling through the woods, Jericho remarked about the strongest members being taken down. She remembered her heartless words, talking about how if they were so strong, they shouldn't have been beaten down. She thought about her words all night, they were keeping her up.

 Jericho and her had reached the base midway through the night. They took a few drinks, and then went to sleep. Or at least she think he did.

 She couldn't sleep, opting instead to stare blankly outwards, thinking about the body she had carried. That girl might've had a family, someone that was waiting for her to come back. And now she never would, the only thing that would come is her mangled corpse. She shook the thoughts out of her head, and filled her glass again, taking another shot.