Nikita hears the dogs before the woman. Their panting and claws, the unfamiliar sounds draw her up, alert. She has little experience of dogs, except for cadaver and drug searches. Her shoulders have tensed, but relax by the time the woman speaks. She's pretty, in a homespun fashion that dresses up very well, but her manner shows not even a single trace of vigilance. If she's an agent of any kind, she's a very very good actress.

"Hello. You startled me," Nikita offers apologetically, immediately falling into the role she's crafted for herself: a slightly shell-shocked conflict journalist. With a little laugh, she gestures to her cutting board. "I think I'm making ratatouille. It might end up a stirfry if I get tired of chopping."