Free from the box, Ami was a bit worse for wear—a still-blooming bruise here, a shallow cut there, but the worst of it was the headwound that had ended the fight. It wasn't quite a concussion, but it had bled a scary amount before her captors had staunched the flow and shut her away in the box. It didn't hurt now, which was likely thanks to the drugs, but all of it had left her in a state far more vulnerable than she had been in years.

Weakly, she curled into Shisui, fingers clumsily clutching at his shirt. "...they took Daddy's daggers," she slurred out, and more tears rolled over Shisui's fingers as he tried to wipe the old ones away. It wasn't exactly what she had wanted to say, but it opened the floodgates and what little composure she had retained crumbled away. "I fought, I did, I promise but I...b-but I wasn't good enough, and...and..."

She tried to speak again, to explain the shame and fear and how she'd do better next time, she promised, but all that comes out is a tiny wail and renewed sobbing. Later, she'd be disgusted and ashamed of herself. But for the moment, all she can do is clutch Shisui's shirt tighter and cry. "...wanted Sensei...so scary...!"