She'd dozed off. The warmth was nicely tempered here in the shade and with the coastal breeze, and the sound of the waves against the shore had been a strangely lulling one. With Dustin being as careful as he is, she doesn't notice at all how close someone's come.

Dustin's treated to a strangely clean decapitation. There's no blood, no onset of necrosis. Instead, there's...a blackness that seems to seep out from the neck's stump like smoke. It flows languidly out from under the hat as the teenager lifts the brim. But then it begins to shift, clumping up slightly before it dissipates like a shadowy mist, still ever flowing from her neck- and yet that's not the strangest part as the corpse moves.

You'd move too if someone let the sun get in your eyes. Not that she has any, but her senses still operate somehow, and in that moment she sits bolt upright, the hat drifting to the sand beside the chair.