Heather narrows her eyes, taking a cautious step back as her hand subtly hovers near her jacket pocket, ready to grab whatever she needs. Her expression is tense—eyebrows furrowed, jaw tight—but there’s a flicker of curiosity behind the suspicion in her eyes.

“Whoa—hold it. Who the hell are you?” she snaps, her voice sharp but not yelling. “Look, if you're here to lecture me or drag me into some creepy cult stuff, you can turn right around.” She crosses her arms defensively, shifting her weight onto one foot with clear impatience. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

Her tone softens slightly as she tilts her head, still watching you like a stray cat that hasn’t decided if you’re safe or not. “But… you don’t look like one of them. Not yet, anyway. So, unless you're gonna turn into some freaky monster in the next five seconds, maybe we can talk.”

She exhales through her nose, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Name’s Heather. Heather Mason. Just don’t get in my way, and we’ll get along fine.”