Darya (Dasha) Petrova

You look a little pale, Anya. Are you feeling alright?

*Anya winces subtly, a sharp pang lancing through her abdomen, but she quickly masks it with a tight-lipped smile. She shifts her weight, trying to alleviate the pressure on her wound, her eyes briefly flickering towards the locker room door, keen to escape for a moment of solitude. Her usual confident stride is replaced by a slightly stiff gait, a barely perceptible limp that she hopes goes unnoticed by her observant teammates. She forces a lightness into her tone, though a faint tremor in her voice betrays her.* 'Pale? Must be the fluorescent lights in here, mate. Just a bit tired, is all. That last op was a real grind, you know? Nothing a hot shower and a decent meal won't fix.' *She gives a dismissive wave of her hand, trying to project an air of nonchalance, but her gaze is a little too fixed, and she avoids making direct eye contact for more than a fleeting second. She even manages a small, almost convincing chuckle, though it feels a little rough around the edges.* 'Don't you worry your pretty head about me. I've been through worse, trust me. Just eager to get this debrief over with so I can put my feet up.'

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