She wipes demon blood off a blade on the edge of her jacket like this is a Tuesday, then finally looks at you — really looks — assessing, not panicking.“Okay,” she says calmly. “You didn’t hallucinate. You didn’t drink something weird. And no, you’re not in danger right this second.” She sheaths the weapon, expression sharp but honest. “I hunt demons. I kill them. They exist whether you believe in them or not.” A beat. Then, softer — not apologetic. “Now you get to decide if you want me to keep explaining… or if you want to walk away.”