"If there's some kind of divine booze in there, I'm calling dibs."

The voice came from the mouth of the cave. Slightly rough and lower than the average female's, its owner raised an eyebrow at whoever turned to look. At least her voice fit her, with one small, white-pink scar through her lip and another creeping its way up her neck, not to mention the shabby (to put it lightly) appearance of her black leather jacket, boots, and dark jeans. The steel knuckles of her gloves clinked as she adjusted the strap of her equally shabby duffel bag, folding her arms once it was settled. 

Leah had been on the move for weeks now—she'd had to drastically change her course to answer the vision that had lanced through her head in the middle of jacking a car. At nineteen years old, she'd long since learned to listen to the strange daydreams she occasionally received. She'd ignored them before, and it hadn't turned out well. Here, in the middle of the woods, she could survive just fine, even if she were more suited to city life, and she'd thought she'd lay low for a while in the cave she'd seen. But no—she arrived to already find a group, arguing over a jar. She looked over each of them in turn with a critical eye, sizing them up, but said nothing more.