"Ghosts usually don't interact with the corporeal world. Those are poltergeist," she says lightly, as if quoting a book. She may well be: she's turned back to the bookstore, glancing in through the doorway.

Nothing, no one, there.

Curious.

"I wasn't. I woke up in the woods, and the road led me here." After a good hour standing, staring into the unyielding blackness of a foggy abyss that gave her nothing. If she'd been sent here for a mission, someone would stand out to her, and everything would click into place. Even unarmed, she was not wholly weaponless, and felt little apprehension about the village itself. It wasn't any worse than winter in Sarajevo mid-siege.