Are you…one of them?" the woman whispers as you kneel down beside her. A single eye peeks out from behind her fingers, wild and darting this way and that as it takes in the entirety of her situation from within the safety of her upheld palms. "I don't want to die…"
"No one's going to hurt you," you try to soothe her. You won't get anything from her until she thinks she's safe. "Were you a prisoner here?"
"W—what?" she stutters. "Of course not. I've been coming to the club for weeks now. The owners didn't do this, it was…it was…" she goes quiet again and eyes you closely, sweeping a long, twisted strand of hair away from her face. Does she think you're one of the people who attacked, coming to silence her?
She scrutinizes you closely for a moment and her eyes widen in recognition. "I think I do remember you!" she exclaims. "But you haven't been here for a while."
"It's been a busy few weeks," you admit. "But we're here now, and we're going to figure out who did this to you and the others."
It looks like she's starting to relax. It's hard for you to imagine what it must have been like for her, hiding in this collapsed room all day, terrified that she'll be found by a group of terrorists.
"I'm going to get you out of here and into medical care, okay?" you say, hoping to sound comforting. "What's your name?"
She takes your hand and pulls herself unsteadily up to her feet. "I'm Mikhaila. Can we go now?" She tries to pick at her dress strap where it's fused to her shoulder and a shiver runs down her back when she's unable to remove it.
"Of course," you say. "I just need you to answer a quick question first." You don't want to keep her too long. The woman clearly needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible, but you also can't give up the opportunity to ask a question of the only known survivor of the attack.