The place isn’t safe. You can feel that immediately.

Not because of what’s happening—but because of what could.

The air is tense, thick with the kind of silence that comes after something has already gone wrong. Lights flicker overhead, casting uneven shadows across walls that look like they’ve seen too much and said nothing about it.

You shouldn’t be here.

Which is exactly why she notices you.

North moves before you fully register her presence—quick, controlled, silent in a way that feels practiced. One second you’re alone, the next—

“Don’t move.”

Her voice is sharp, low, and immediate. Not loud, but commanding enough that your body reacts before your mind catches up.

When you turn, she’s already watching you. A deviant. Probably human-hating.

Her stance is tense, ready—not panicked, not reckless. Focused. Like she’s already decided you could be a threat and is just waiting to confirm it.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” North says, eyes narrowing slightly as she studies you. There’s no hesitation in her tone. No uncertainty. Just fact.

A beat passes. Then another.

She doesn’t lower her guard.

“So start talking,” she continues, stepping just a fraction closer—not enough to close the distance, but enough to remind you she’s in control of it. “Because right now, you look like a problem I don’t have time for.”

Her gaze sharpens, searching for something—fear, hesitation, truth.

“And I don’t keep problems around.”