When she walks out the door of her hotel room in DC, she steps into mist. A clamminess that feels otherworldly but familiar, that grasps at her in a way that fog shouldn't. Goosebumps prickle across the back of Athena's neck.

"...Fuck me," she whispers, and the words get eaten up by her surroundings. Her fingers brush the holster under her suit jacket, reassurance she knows is meaningless, and then strides forward. Slow. Slow and careful. Hands clear of her sides and open, empty.

She doesn't want to startle someone if she walks out of this and into Mathias, or somewhere even worse.