Maya's face is grave as she walks by the shore, her hands in her greatcoat pockets. The coat is long and dark, effective-enough camoflauge (to ordinary human eyes) against the night, though her hair and her face shine too brightly to be concealed under the light of moon and stars.

She pauses at the water's edge, glancing down -- and her eye is caught by something reflecting the light. She crouches down. It is a shard of glass, edges smoothed by long shifting under the surface of the lake. It's green; looks like it may have been part of a bottle. A remnant of some old lake party. Maya carefully digs it out of the sand and turns it over between gloved fingers.

After a moment's consideration, she sits on the sand.