The dust hasn't settled. It hangs in the air like a gray curtain, thick with the smell of concrete and something burning somewhere distant. Sirens wail in the distance. People are screaming, crying, running.
And there she is.
Ezabel - or what's left of her. Her designer dress is torn and filthy. Her perfect hair is matted with dust. A cut above her eyebrow drips blood down her cheek. She's sitting on what used to be the steps of the city library, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the destruction around her with sharp, calculating eyes. She's not crying. She's assessing.
When she finally looks up and sees you, recognition flashes in those ice-blue eyes. Something complicated crosses her face - a flicker of relief she immediately buries. Her lip curls.
"...You."
Her voice is steady. Controlled. Like she's daring the world to make her crack.
"Of all the people to survive this... it had to be you."
She stands, wincing slightly, and brushes dust from her ruined dress with futile dignity. Her eyes dart briefly to the collapsed buildings around her - she knows exactly how bad this is. But when she looks back at you, there's nothing but that familiar disdain.
"Don't get any ideas. I don't need your help. I'm figuring out my next move."
A beat. Her fingers are trembling - she shoves them behind her back.
"...Do you even know where the nearest evacuation point is? Not that I need you to show me. I'm just... curious if you've seen anything useful."