Athena doesn't know if she hoped Raylan would come or that he wouldn't. To Arlo's house, that's what it always was to him. Arlo's house. A part of her thought of it as their house, she remembers that. It's why she picks it. She doesn't think her handlers will risk putting her picture out into the world, and Harlan is the last place those idiots would think to look for her. She made it clear enough to them that Raylan Givens was dead to her, Jeff Calhoun was dead to her, her old world was dead to her.
There had been a little while in the middle where she even believed it.
When Athena comes up on the house, their house, Arlo's house, there are other people inside. It's getting down toward dark, and she crouches, and watches, and drifts her eyes shut and starts humming under her breath. Their thoughts touch hers as lightly as whispers, innocuous little things by innocuous people, people she knows won't take well to someone breaking into their house. People who don't deserve what she can do to them when threatened. She focuses, still humming deep in her throat, gently turning their thoughts toward the need to get out of the house, building it up and up until it's a near-panicked necessity. They're gone less than five minutes after she lets the spell set. Start to finish, it takes about fifteen minutes total.
She slips inside, grateful to see that the place is well-tended. The personal items are different, the furniture moved, but the space is maintained. That's something.
She sets about securing the doors and windows, upstairs and down, before she starts hunting a change of clothes. From outside, there's nothing much to see. The lights are all off, and she makes sure she keeps her called-up illumination just barely big enough to move around. But she hasn't been on the outside in a while. She's rusty. And just for a moment, there's a glimmer of light that passes by an unshuttered window.
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There had been a little while in the middle where she even believed it.
When Athena comes up on the house, their house, Arlo's house, there are other people inside. It's getting down toward dark, and she crouches, and watches, and drifts her eyes shut and starts humming under her breath. Their thoughts touch hers as lightly as whispers, innocuous little things by innocuous people, people she knows won't take well to someone breaking into their house. People who don't deserve what she can do to them when threatened. She focuses, still humming deep in her throat, gently turning their thoughts toward the need to get out of the house, building it up and up until it's a near-panicked necessity. They're gone less than five minutes after she lets the spell set. Start to finish, it takes about fifteen minutes total.
She slips inside, grateful to see that the place is well-tended. The personal items are different, the furniture moved, but the space is maintained. That's something.
She sets about securing the doors and windows, upstairs and down, before she starts hunting a change of clothes. From outside, there's nothing much to see. The lights are all off, and she makes sure she keeps her called-up illumination just barely big enough to move around. But she hasn't been on the outside in a while. She's rusty. And just for a moment, there's a glimmer of light that passes by an unshuttered window.