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Summary
The unpacked belongings had been shoved to one side, revealing strange chalk markings on the floor, what looked to Emma’s amateur eye like magic sigils. In the center of the room was a metal folding chair. Rachel knelt next to it, carefully not touching the chalk, looking up at the figure sitting in it, dormant.
Emma blinked. It was Jean. And also it wasn’t.
It was Jean’s body. To Emma’s normal eyes, she looked like she was sleeping, her chest rising and falling peacefully, her lips slightly parted. But to Emma’s mental eye there was a coiling thing where her mind should be. It felt slick and sharp at once, almost oily. Emma didn't get too close.
“You see the problem,” said Scott from where he stood by the door.