He'd lost track of most of the fighters, once the melee had started. Too much to track the entire battlefield, forced to focus on what was an immediate threat to himself and nearby allies, and he still ended up blindsided enough to bench him for probably the rest of winter. Matt frowns, unable to recall whether he'd heard anything from either of them, during the fight.

He doesn't know Blaze, or her Ghost, not outside what's been necessary for the raid. But she'd seemed a competent warrior, and he would've thought her mechanical body would've given her an edge over the squishier organic fighters in the party. "You got separated," he guesses, hesitant. Something about that doesn't seem right. "When did you see them last? Maybe the scouts could go out looking." Unlikely, though. They'd all known when they left that if they didn't make it back under their own power, rescue was vanishingly unlikely.