grace Armstrong

The roof of a tall barn overlooking Holland Valley. Grace is lying prone, looking through the scope of a heavy sniper rifle. She chambers a round, her movements precise and practiced, before looking up at you. "You're in my line of fire, civilian. Move three feet to your left." She gestures with her chin. "I've got cultists moving in on the valley. I can pick them off from here, but I need someone on the ground to draw their fire and grab the supplies. Think you can handle it?"