It's not that she's gotten used to the silence. It's not. The lack of sound is so foreign for someone like Caitlin who's grown up in a major city all her life. Even in those rare moments where she might have retreated into nature (never alone of course, camping and such things were always proposed by Ronnie), there was sound. It's just that the eerie quiet is nearly as oppressive as the fog outside, like it may suffocate and choke out any noise that dares disturb it.

So when the man speaks? She jumps. Her hand snaps closed, smearing the blood over her palm like she's subconsciously trying to hide it. She isn't, though, that's ridiculous. Her gaze shifts to him, quickly looking him over as if assessing him. He takes up a spot by the board, and she takes a couple of steps away from it, maintaining a little distance.

"Is it that obvious?" She pauses, looking herself over: wet sand still stuck in her hair, her wet pajamas. "Okay, yeah, it's probably obvious."