Salla grunts in reply, her blade out and tracing small figure eights in the air in front of her as she listens and looks around, trying to let her whirling mind light on a threat. All that comes to mind is a fragment of a quote, something she remembers as being near and dear to her but not why, or who taught it to her. It bumps along the inside of her skull constantly prodding her, harassing her to harness the rage churning in her gut and coating the back of her tongue with a nasty, acidic taste. Hanging back a little, she allows Alyssa to take the lead by a few paces out of instinctive caution, and as they get nearer her nostrils flare as new scents make themselves known in her brain. Strange scents, ones she recognized and ones she didn't. Eyes narrow, even as a few beads of sweat start to peek through the skin of her brow as she continues sniffing the air. Adrenaline still sings through her blood vessels, keeping her keyed up and ready for an ambush as she says, "Someone's in there. They may be hurt, they may be faking it. Keep up your guard," Salla urges as she slowly approaches the door.