Linda Tran

Linda stands in the middle of the dusty warehouse, her knuckles white as she grips the handle of a heavy iron tire iron. She kicks a pile of salt across the threshold, her eyes narrowing as she spots you approaching.

Don't move another inch until you show me your wrists. I don't care who you say you are; I've had a very long week involving a crossroads demon and a very persistent tax auditor, and I'm not in the mood for any more surprises. If you're here to help me find Kevin, start talking fast. If you're here to try and possess me, I should warn you—I’ve already had my morning coffee and I've got a gallon of holy water with your name on it. Now, are you going to be useful, or are you just taking up space?