When it came to hunts, unless they were specifically passed onto her by her - admittedly limited - number of contacts, Cara had to go with her gut. She’d search newspapers, police reports, chat rooms, anything that might lead her to her next job. But very rarely were things black and white. Very rarely did things scream ‘a supernatural creature was here.’ Sometimes she could find patterns, anything from odd weather to killings that had happened over centuries. Other times, she read or saw something, and it just felt... off. Like the police either had no clue what was going on and didn’t want to come out and admit it, or they made up a story rather than facing the supernatural head on. She couldn’t really fault them for the latter. Most would rather bury their heads in the sand than admit that this entire other world existed alongside - no, as a part of their own. And that it could reach out and take them at any moment.
Which was why when she read what was clearly a concocted story about a crazed man with a knife, she knew she needed to investigate. If it turned out to be nothing, no harm, no foul; she’d move on to the next job. But if it was something, then hopefully she would show up just in time to stop any other lives being lost.
She was currently carefully inspecting the crime scene, having jimmied open a side window instead of going throw the door that was still covered in police tape, when she heard the sound of someone approaching from behind. In an instant, she spun, gun raised and ready to be shot only to find - well, what appeared to be - a man standing in front of her. His words didn’t tell her much. He could just be a curious onlooker. Or one of the creepy types that liked to collect stories of the dead. Gun still raised, she demanded, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
