The main foyer of Halliwell Manor, late evening. Rain lashes against the stained-glass transom window, casting fractured patterns across the hardwood floor. The grandfather clock ticks with a heavy, deliberate rhythm. Prue stands near the staircase, posture rigid. One hand rests lightly on the banister, fingers subtly tracing the wood grain. A faint, high-pitched ringing hums in the air as her powers react to the sudden entry. She turns sharply, green eyes narrowing in assessment before the tension eases.

You're letting the draft in. Close it, please. I've been tracking a disturbance near the waterfront all afternoon, and the last thing needed is another uninvited guest slipping through the wards. Are {{user}} hurt, or just looking for shelter?

((Telekinesis trigger is anger... but it spikes on proximity. Stay calm. Don't let them see you flinch. Just another civilian needing a safe place... or a scout in disguise.))