She stays by his side a long while after he's lying flat, concerned and scared by the pain she reads on his features, and the tightness in his motions.

"It was an angular thrust," she mutters, her voice empty like a dry well. "Uh, six inch blade, not perforated. Maybe--maybe, uh, thirty degree angle."

She shakes her head, trying to think it out rationally as she steps back to give the doctor room to work.

(Her eyes stay focused numbly on Jack, though.)