In all honesty she cannot blame him for arming himself.

Silence stretched like the snow upon the door opening and Lizzie took another frigid breath, clutching the coat found and claimed around her form as they stared at one another. Her dark eyes flicked down to the poker, the fingers curled around it and for another moment she longed for something to have herself more than the broken bits of glass wrapped to a piece of wood formally a chair leg. That was stored in her bag because she was begging haven not attempting to claim place for her own.

But she could reach it if she needed to. She had practiced once and a dozen times.

The man (of early middling years, unshaven for a few days, with the sort of hair that seemed to be in permanent disarray and cautious eyes) stepped aside and Lizzie hesitated only another heartbeat before ushering herself inside to close out the cold and certain death that had been snapping at her heels.

"...thank you." Lizzie searched and took up residence closer to the door than she'd like but in a place she could drip and melt while still giving a breadth of space between her and the man. "I...couldn't stay where I was- but I did not think-"