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A pale light illuminates across the floor from a shaded lamp, standing lone and tall in an office otherwise completely dark. The set-up is a humble one; a rather ancient looking machine sits upon a desk of solid wood, surrounded by small stacks of notebooks, a few paper cups, and layered rings of coffee stains gathered in the right-most corner.
She is the lone light in this building, and she chose to be that way so she could be seen.
Gretchen is mid-panic, mid-dash for the door, startled by a noise that seems to have ceased. In a building otherwise so dark, the smallest of sounds carries, and Gretchen is nothing if not deeply paranoid.
Best case scenario, it is the overnight cleaners. Worse case scenario, it is an unfaithful that she very recently pissed off.
Her knife that she keeps beneath her sweater sits heavy like it's built from lead, but still, she's reaching for something else in the office before she parks by the door. A small fire extinguisher, the size of her forearm -- an archivist in Nills' district told her that she ought to have one, lest something happen.
This isn't the emergency that it's really meant for, she supposes, but it's going to be a help anyway.
She strains her ears for more shuffling across the carpeted floors of the building, feeling the pressure in the air build and build until she swears she can feel the breath of another just on the other side of the door.
As it creaks open, she stays perfectly still, letting the door shield her as a stranger enters her room.