At the sight of someone, she looks to the side. Then, she removes her earbuds.

For a moment, she isn't the siren. Or the victim. Or... anything. Just a painter.

A young woman sitting in front of a canvas, speckled with paint, barefoot and inelegant. The artist doesn't disappear right away either. Instead, she looks at the canvas, looks back at James, then looks back at the canvas.

"What do you think?" No. Scratch that. She shakes her head and makes a cutting motion with her hand. "What do you feel?"