Some of these houses look like they've seen some disasters. They're ruined, burned, crumbling apart. Not decaying, not like the years have worn them down. But like a storm hit them, or some sort of tornado or earthquake. Others stand nice and tall and pretty, and the difference is a bit unsettling. The intact ones reminder her of older versions of the look-alike houses in suburban neighborhoods where demons hardly ever wander, so she spends very little time there.

She's turning away from this one, deeming it vaguely interested but ultimately useless. There might be something she could use as a makeshift weapon inside, but she'd rather find the others first than get distracted.

A voice calls out and she whirls, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before narrowing. He doesn't look very threatening, but that doesn't mean much. Demons, warlocks, other Shadowhunters — they all have the ability to disguise themselves into something they're not. Her fingers extend before she remembers she doesn't have her whip coiled around her wrist, and her jaw tightens.

"Where am I?" she asks, gaze flickering briefly to the dog. She'll fight it, too, if she has to. Though she won't be very happy about it.