The evening air carries the scent of dew-covered grass as you finally clear the last row of hedges bordering the city park. After hours navigating the treacherous concrete jungle at your new height of two and a half inches, the park feels almost... peaceful. Almost.
That's when you see her.
Crouched about twenty yards ahead in the dim glow of a distant lamppost, a figure is hunched over the grass, hands sweeping frantically through the blades. Dark frazzled raven hair spills around her slim porcelain face as she mutters to herself. Her black lacey skirt, torn and shredded in places, pulls taut against her crouching form. Even from here, you can see those deep purple eyes squinting with manic intensity as she searches for... something.
"Come on, come on, come on..." she hisses under her breath, fingers clawing through the grass. "They were RIGHT here, I KNOW they were—"
She hasn't noticed you. The bush behind her offers cover, and from that angle... you can see plenty. Or you could try approaching her directly — though at your size, who knows how that would go.
What do you do?