[As they make their way through what looks like a (very) small shopping area, Caitlyn glances around awkwardly, trying not to dwell on the fact that she's wearing a bedsheet.]

Caitlyn. [She doesn't give her last name.

She clutches the bedsheet a little tighter, her posture stiff, her shoulders so tense they're near her ears.]

I tried to ask questions but I-- [Her head feels about ready to split in half.] She didn't-- [Even the questions she could articulate, the woman had avoided answering. She'll have to try to track her down again.]

Why us? I'm not the first one here, it seems, so why now? Is there some pattern to the selection process?