Round 4 Transcript

As Julia backs away from Jeane's intensity, a window on the second floor opens with a creak. An older woman leans out, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene below.

"Everything alright down there?" She calls out, her voice sharp and curious. "Do you ladies need assistance?"

A moment later, another window opens next to hers—a younger woman this time, barely dressed, who freezes mid-stretch when she sees the gathering outside.

Silra hisses under her breath: 'Fuck. Now we've got a gallery.'

The grocer across the street has stopped unpacking and is watching openly now, phone in hand as if considering whether to call someone.

Hera's gaze snaps up to the open windows at Silra's warning, her heart sinking as she realizes their small audience. This is exactly what they didn't need—attention from nosy neighbors who might start asking questions or even call the cops if this scene goes on much longer.

She steps forward quickly, putting herself between Julia and the windows to block some of their view, then turns with a bright, apologetic smile. "Oh, sorry about that! We're just having a bit of a...private conversation here. Everything's fine!"

Hera's voice is chipper and unconcerned but inside she's cursing under her breath. This whole operation was going sideways fast—Jeane's intensity had clearly spooked Julia, now they had an audience watching their every move, and Silra looked ready to bolt at any moment.

Keeping her eyes on the neighbors, Hera reaches back with one hand and grabs Jeane's arm in a warning squeeze. 'Time to abort,' she mouths silently, 'Before we draw more attention.'

At the same time, she keeps up her cheerful front for the audience. "We were just about to head out actually—thanks so much!" She makes a shooing motion with her free hand, trying to herd everyone back down the sidewalk and away from Julia's door before things get even worse.

Hera knows they can't afford to have anyone start asking questions or poking into their business. Not when they're right on the edge of something that could change everything for them...if only they can keep it quiet long enough to pull it off.

Abby shrinks back against the wall of Julia's apartment building, her eyes darting between Jeane’s intense face, Halie’s concerned expression, Silra’s coiled tension, and the suddenly very interested neighbors peering out their windows. Her heart hammers in her chest like a trapped bird. This is all wrong—too public, too aggressive, too many prying eyes.
She wants to run, to disappear into the nearest shadow where no one can see the flush spreading across her cheeks or the way her hands are trembling at her sides. But running would only draw more attention, and Jeane had made it clear that drawing attention was the last thing they could afford right now. Abby takes a shaky breath, trying to calm herself enough to think clearly.
The clamor of voices above them—Jeane’s commanding tone, Halie's soft entreaties, Silra's hissed curses—all seem to be happening in a different world from the one where Abby is rooted to the spot, utterly frozen by fear and uncertainty. She can feel Julia's gaze on her too, a mixture of confusion and growing suspicion that makes her skin prickle with cold sweat.
This isn't how it was supposed to go at all. They were meant to be subtle, discreet even. Slipping in and out without anyone being the wiser. But now they're three women making a scene outside some poor unsuspecting victim's home before 8 AM, and half the neighborhood is starting to take notice.
Abby watches as Hera tries desperately to salvage things, her voice bright with false cheer as she attempts to shoo them all away. It’s a valiant effort but one that rings hollow against the growing murmurs of curiosity from the windows above and across the street. They have to get out of here, fast.
She catches Jeane's eye—her mistress looks furious at being interrupted, her jaw set in a hard line under the edge of her cloak—and tries to communicate with a single pleading look: 'We need to go now, before this blows up even more than it already has.'
Abby risks one last glance at Julia. The woman looks terrified, but there’s also a spark of something else there—a flicker of defiance that tells Abby this target isn't going down without a fight. And rightfully so.

I snap my gaze up to the windows above—of course this cursed street had to have such observant residents—and then across to the grocer now openly staring with their phone out. This is an absolute disaster. Julia was already panicking, now we've got a gallery of witnesses and likely minutes before someone calls the authorities. I step forward again, cutting off Halie's attempt at diplomacy. 'Julia,' I say sharply, 'this conversation needs privacy. Right now.' I don't wait for permission—I simply move past Hera toward the door, my wings shifting restlessly beneath the cloak as if barely contained by the fabric. The neighbors can watch all they want; fear of discovery will make Julia far more malleable than sympathy ever could. 'Open the door,' I tell her flatly, 'or I'll be forced to demonstrate exactly why you don't want these people paying attention.' It's a threat but also an offer—safety from outsiders in exchange for compliance. Classic trade for someone cornered and frightened.

Silra's skin crawls with the sensation of too many eyes on her back. This street is fucked—half the neighborhood's got their noses pressed to the glass now watching this mess unfold. We're three women loitering outside someone's door before breakfast time like we're selling something dodgy, which I guess we kind of are. Julia looks like she wants to bolt but Jeane's leaning into the whole 'fear sells safety' angle way too hard, and Halie's trying to defuse things with that soft voice that usually works on me but is about as effective on a cornered stranger as a bucket of warm spit. I sidle along the wall toward Julia's building, checking the fire escape—if this goes sideways we need an exit that doesn't involve walking through a crowd of increasingly suspicious neighbors. The grocer across the street is still staring, phone out like they're considering calling someone, and the old bat in the second-floor window looks ready to start asking questions. We have maybe two minutes before someone does exactly that or decides to call the cops for 'suspicious behavior.' Which, fair. Jeane's pushing forward again—of course she is, she sees fear as an opportunity instead of a reason to abort—and I almost admire her commitment even while my gut screams this is getting sloppy fast. Hera's trying to defuse things with that bright fake cheer but it reads as obvious and desperate from here. If we don't move this inside right now or walk away completely, we're going to have a much bigger problem than just convincing Julia. The longer we stand here doing nothing but staring at her door like creeps, the more likely someone calls the cops just to make us go away. We need to get out of sight before that happens.

I step between Jeane and Julia instinctively, one hand touching Jeane's arm to check her forward momentum while the other reaches toward Julia in an open gesture of peace. Wait—Jeane, please. We can't do this here. Look at them. My eyes flick up to the watching neighbors—the older woman leaning out her window, the younger barely dressed figure staring down with wide eyes, the grocer across the street still openly observing us. They're going to call someone if we keep standing here like this. We need a different approach. I turn my attention fully to Julia now, keeping my voice soft and non-threatening despite the urgency I feel. Julia, I'm so sorry for startling you. We didn't mean any harm—we just wanted to talk about something important to all of us. But not like this, not with everyone watching. I glance at Silra, recognizing her tension as the same readiness I'd felt before fights we couldn't avoid. Sil's right—that street is too exposed now. If we're going to do this properly, we need privacy. Away from prying eyes and ears where we can actually explain ourselves without causing more panic. I meet Hera's worried gaze next—she looks as alarmed by the situation as I feel. Hera, you're right that we should abort before things escalate further. But walking away now might make Julia even more suspicious or scared than if we handle this carefully and suggest meeting somewhere else later. Somewhere public enough to feel safe but private enough to talk freely. Turning back to Jeane, I keep my tone firm despite the gentleness. Please—let's regroup after this. We can't afford to make a scene that attracts attention from authorities or rival groups. Julia deserves better than being scared in front of her neighbors, and we need to be smarter about recruitment if we want to grow safely. I look at each woman in turn—Silra coiled for action, Hera trying desperately to defuse things, Abby shrinking back against the wall. This isn't working. We need a new plan before someone calls the cops or worse. Let's walk down to that coffee shop two blocks away—I'll stay here with Julia if she's willing to talk just for a few minutes while you all go ahead and secure somewhere we can regroup privately.