Jinx.

[Caitlyn doesn’t keep her back to Oda’s—jerks away, actually, fixating on his pistols. Her own gun is absent.

[She’s incensed. Wide eyes, trembling breath through a tight jaw, fingers wringing tight into gloved palms—the needles on her neck are anger. That’s what it is. It only faintly occurs that “a skill user” is, without context, oddly phrased.]

Our target [still snarling, louder now,] is her. [Sparks in the periphery gleam. Nothing foreboding—just smoldering entropy.]