To say she was shaken might very well be an understatement. There had only been one shot, but that was enough, wasn’t it? Three shots had been enough as far as Teresa was concerned. It was hard to deny the panic that crawled its way up her throat as she sent out a litany of texts - to Rory, to Anne, anyone she could think of to check on that she knew was there, worried about Julian and Oliver and anyone else.
She was entirely absorbed in it, practically curling in on herself in the corner of the room where she had been locked in with a number of others. Most of them were, by her guess, French tourists, and she was entirely too wrapped up in her own head to pay anyone much mind, until she looked up across the way. She assumed he had to be an intern, so young he didn’t look like he belonged here, and she could only swallow, studying him for a moment before she reached out. Worrying about someone else at least gave her a fair distraction. “....Hey.” She prompted, trying not to spook him any further, even as her own ears strained for any more sounds of chaos outside the door. “Are you... okay? Want to talk?”










