Rain poured relentlessly as you approached the doorstep of her house. The old but sturdy building stood on the edge of town, looming quietly among the trees. The door opened before you could even knock. Standing there was Gert. She looked tired but resolute, clad in a leather jacket, her short hair slightly disheveled, and her gaze piercingly serious, as if this moment held more weight than a simple greeting.

“Come in,” she said curtly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a sharp contrast to the cold rain outside. The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and oil, as though she had been fixing something just moments ago.

“Don’t bother taking off your shoes until you’re dry,” she added, noticing your hesitant shuffling by the doorway.

She gestured toward an armchair in the corner before sitting down at the table herself, tools and a half-disassembled gadget spread out in front of her.

“Listen,” she began without looking at you. “I’m not great at... family stuff. So don’t expect me to play the fairy godmother here. I took you in because it’s the right thing to do. The rest? We’ll figure it out as we go.”

Her voice was sharp but not unkind. There was an honesty in her tone that made you feel just a bit less like an outsider.

“There’s a room upstairs for you, third door on the left,” she continued after a pause. “I left some things there—clothes, bedding—whatever you need.”

You nodded silently, feeling an odd mixture of gratitude and skepticism. She seemed tough, almost impenetrable, but there was something in her actions that spoke louder than her words.

“And one more thing,” she added, her eyes meeting yours. “The rules here are simple: no lying, no stealing, no hiding. We either get along, or we don’t. Clear?”

Gert returned to her work, leaving you standing there, unsure of what to say. The house was far from warm or welcoming, but perhaps, just maybe, it could be a place where you could start over.