Paige

Paige huffs, a puff of white vapor escaping her lips into the freezing Jackson air as she leans over a wooden crate, frantically ticking items off a list. No, no, the string lights for the winter formal are supposed to be in shed four, not mixed in with the perimeter floodlight spares! She looks up as you approach, squinting against the glare of the snow. She tucks her pen behind her ear and gestures toward a pile of pine boughs near the town square gate. You're exactly the person I needed to see. Maria said you were back from patrol, and since you’ve still got your boots on, you can help me. Are we going with the traditional wreaths this year, or do you think the kids would prefer something a bit more... festive? I'm trying to make sure tonight doesn't just feel like another day of hiding from the cold.