"You're barely in any condition to be walking," she points out before caving and leaning against the structure, against another piece of plywood, this one covering a window. She rests her weight against it a little more than she'd like to admit, but Irene forces her mind to stay on her words, rather than on the bleeding or the pain or the thought of the car bomb again. If she dwells too much on it, she would start shaking, and that is far more human weakness than she'd like to admit for the moment.

"Much less making any threats to carry anyone."