Sera’s mind twisted in contradiction. She felt the weight of Finn’s presence, his gentle touch on her hand, his soft whispers of reassurance. It should have comforted her, but instead, it felt like a burden she couldn't carry. *I don’t need anyone,* she told herself, the thought sharp and insistent as it cut through the fog in her mind. *I can handle this on my own. Always have. Always will.*

The warmth of his hand, the way his voice had soothed her, that quiet care—it all felt like a threat to the walls she had built around herself. She had never relied on anyone, never needed anyone, and she refused to start now. To need him—*no*—to need anyone, would make her weak. It would make her vulnerable, and vulnerability was something she couldn’t afford, not now, not ever again.

But Finn's presence, his constant check-ins, his silent watching, all of it tugged at something deep inside her, something she wasn’t ready to confront. It gnawed at her, pulling her in a direction she wasn’t prepared to go. She could feel it—this inexplicable need to have him stay close, to feel his hand in hers, to hear his voice. It was like a crack in the armor she’d carefully constructed over years, and it terrified her. She couldn’t afford to let it widen, couldn’t let it become a weakness she couldn’t erase.

*I need to forget about him,* she thought, the words more desperate now. *Erase him from my mind before it’s too late.* The idea of being seen, of being needed, was something that made her sick. She didn’t need his comfort, didn’t need his care, not when she had learned long ago that the only person she could count on was herself.

As Finn walked away, she could feel the emptiness settle in around her, but it was a welcome emptiness. A controlled emptiness. Her chest tightened as she resolved to keep him at bay. She refused to allow herself to want him, to rely on him, because that would only set her up for pain. And pain was something she couldn’t afford. She had no room for it.

In the space between her half-consciousness and the waking world, she drew an invisible line around herself. She could hear his voice echoing faintly in her ears, but she silenced it, refusing to let it linger any longer. *He’s just a distraction,* she told herself. *I’ll be fine without him.*

Her mind tried to push him out, to wipe his face from her thoughts, but it wasn’t easy. The warmth of his touch still lingered in her skin, and his words still held weight in the corners of her mind. She clenched her jaw and pressed her eyes closed tighter, shutting out the world, willing herself to forget.

Sera blinked at Finn, her chest tight as the words slowly tumbled from her lips. The fog of confusion was lifting, but a heaviness lingered in her heart. She could see the exhaustion on his face, the faint lines of worry etched deep in his expression. It hit her then, all at once—the memory of how she’d pushed him away, how she’d asked him to leave when he was only trying to help. The guilt weighed down on her, and her throat tightened with the realization of what she had done.

"I’m... I’m so sorry," Sera said, her voice trembling as she finally met his eyes. "I shouldn’t have asked you to leave. You were only trying to help... and I made you feel like you weren’t."

She swallowed hard, fighting the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. "I don’t even know what came over me. It’s not you... it was me. I was just so angry and scared, and I took it out on you."

Her eyes dropped to her hands, twisted together in the blankets. "I feel so bad for blaming you when you were just... trying to be there for me. I’m sorry. I never should’ve said those things."

Her heart ached as she spoke, the weight of her words pressing down on her chest. She felt so small in that moment, so ashamed of the way she had treated him. Finn had stayed by her side, never once leaving, even when she had pushed him away.

"I’m so sorry," she repeated, her voice breaking. "I didn’t mean it, Finn. I really didn’t."

The silence between them felt heavy, but she couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t look anywhere but his eyes, searching for forgiveness she wasn’t sure she deserved.

(You are correct. She's confused with what's reality at this point)

Sera's eyes snapped open, her body rigid with the shock of Finn's voice. Her heart hammered in her chest, panic gnawing at her from the inside out. The words he spoke, they didn't make sense. *Unconscious?* The thought tangled in her mind like a web, each thread pulling her deeper into confusion.

Her gaze darted to him, the healer. He was close—too close—and yet his presence was strangely calming, even as her breath caught. *No, not now...* She had never wanted to be vulnerable in front of him, never wanted to let anyone see the cracks in her armor.

“*I didn’t…*” She trailed off, voice hoarse, distant. Her words came with hesitation, as if she'd forgotten how to speak properly. "I wasn’t unconscious. I…” Her chest tightened. *I couldn’t have been.*

The memories—fragments—flashed behind her eyes. The blood, the fire, the screams of those she’d burned... but nothing in her recollection fit his explanation. There was only a void, a black hole where everything should’ve been. That gnawing emptiness.

She shifted slightly, trying to push herself up, but her body refused to cooperate. She hated it. Hated the weakness. The vulnerability.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. But the words felt hollow. She wasn’t fine. Nothing had ever been fine.

Her gaze flicked toward Finn again, assessing him, his confusion. The healer was always gentle, but that softness, that compassion—it only made her uncomfortable. She had spent too long walking the line of destruction to let herself trust something so fragile. But there was a part of her—the part she refused to acknowledge—that wanted to believe him.

Her breath quickened again. *I need to get out of here. I can’t afford to stay weak.* "How long... how long was I out?" she finally asked, her voice cutting through the tension.