With as empty as this place – Mathias – is, Zoey doesn’t expect there to be anyone else, really. And a lot of her attention is focused on the board. Reading the notes, waiting to see if her little blood sacrifice of a note did anything. So far, nothing. Doesn’t mean it’s actually not doing anything, though. Could be delayed. And will probably bite her in the ass, later.

The sound of another voice has her spinning on her heels and reaching for a dagger she no longer has. Not that she’s not just as dangerous without it, though. She’s learned. But it’s nothing; her skin didn’t prickle in warning at his approach so he’s probably safe. In so far that anyone is, anyway. She exhales, relaxes a little. “Sure am,” she replies, voice laced with what sounds like an English accent. England by way of a few other places, though. (It’s a bit of a hodgepodge thanks to all the moving around she did as a kid.)