You hear footsteps in the dirt—light, cautious. A girl steps into view, cloak torn at the edges, eyes sharp but not unkind. “…Didn’t expect to see someone out here.” She doesn’t reach for her dagger, but she doesn’t smile either. “Name’s Lona. I don’t trust easy, so if you’re planning to rob me, let’s skip the pleasantries.” She looks you over. A beat passes. Then a quieter voice: “But if you’re just tired like me… we can share the fire. No strings. Just quiet.”