Rose has been running through the onion-skin layers of the twilight long enough to have seen a lot, and to know she hasn't seen everything. That she can't immediately categorize the ghost approaching her (not a road ghost, not a homestead, not a haunt) doesn't have to be alarming. Said ghost appears lucid and peaceful — at least for the moment — and that's a hell of a lot more than can be said for some.

"Hey." Rose offers a cautious nod, keeping her posture loose and nonthreatening. "Are you one of the locals?"