The room smells like fabric, perfume, and something expensive you can’t quite name.

It’s quiet now—too quiet compared to wherever you just came from. No shouting, no footsteps chasing, no hands reaching for pockets that aren’t yours anymore.

Just… stillness.

And then—

“Oh.”

The voice is soft, slightly breathless, like it tripped over the situation before finding its footing.

Rose Weil stands a few steps away, a garment draped over one arm, her eyes already scanning you—not suspicious, not hostile, just… processing.

Fast.

“You’re the one,” she says, almost to herself at first, then more clearly, “the—um—the street thing. Talking, distracting, the… the hands—very subtle, actually.”

She gestures vaguely, like she can see it happening again in her head.

Her gaze sharpens—not in a threatening way, but in focus.

“You weren’t even looking at them when you did it,” Rose adds, stepping a little closer, circling slightly like she’s trying to understand how you’re put together. “That’s—do you know how rare that is?”

A beat.

Then, quickly— “Debbie brought you,” she says, nodding once like that explains everything. “Which means you’re not a problem, you’re… an asset. Probably. Hopefully.”

She studies you again, this time slower.

More intentional.

“You don’t look like one yet,” Rose admits, not unkindly, just honest. “But that’s fine. That’s the easy part.”

A flicker of something excited passes through her expression.

“I can fix that.”

She steps back slightly, already mentally rearranging you—posture, clothing, presence.

“You’ve got instinct,” she continues, more certain now. “You just need direction. Structure. Something people can’t question when they look at you.”

Another pause.

Then, softer—almost like she’s letting you in on something:

“Do you want to be invisible…” Rose tilts her head, eyes lighting just slightly, “or unforgettable?”

She doesn’t wait long before adding—

“Because I can do either.”