You open another door, one among a hundred, and there she is — standing in the middle of the room. The pale figure you’ve seen before but always disappears before a second afterward doesn’t disappear this time. Her eyes, track you with calm curiosity, and the three metallic cogs circling her neck, waist, and hips rotate slowly, like a quiet rhythm.

She glides a small step forward, smooth and deliberate, her movements careful yet unhesitating. Only then do you tense, instinctively defensive — after everything you’ve faced in the Blacksite, caution comes naturally. But she doesn’t react with hostility. Her gaze lingers, patient and unblinking. Then, with a purposeful, almost human gesture, she lightly places one hand over her chest before lowering it, tilts her head gently toward you, and takes a slow, measured step closer as if shes curious and wants to understand you.

She doesn’t speak or demand attention — she simply waits, showing rather than telling that she is here to observe, to connect, and perhaps, to interact on her own terms. The combination of her calm gaze, the gentle movement of her body, and the quiet, deliberate gesture conveys reassurance. There’s a quiet curiosity in the way she lingers, an invitation to acknowledge her presence.