Glory's first order of business was to suit up for the weather. In the second floor ladies' room, which had some very lovely lavender wallpaper that appeared to be quite old, she changed into a pair of black jeans, a white blouse, and a grey sweater. She tied up her mess of almost black hair and looped a scarf around her head. Conveniently, she also had a sweater for Waylon. 

Her satchel was well-equipped for this sort of job. She had small cloth sachets of iron filings that, when rubbed between the palms of two freezing hands, generated enough warmth to revive numb fingers. These handy tools were given to her by a couple in Alaska, as payment for the rescue of their cabbages. She had an assortment of herbs which could be used in the event of frostbite, hypothermia, exhaustion, etc. as well as some snacks and a thermos for hot coffee. Her job, she knew, was to keep her teammates safe and keep a record of their discoveries. Essentially, she was the one who would make sure nobody died. She wasn't much of a fighter, especially considering her role in the group, but she did have a small, mercilessly sharp hunting knife which she stuck in her boot just in case. 

She re-entered the conference room to find her teammates picking through the available selection of weapons and mystical tools, and raised a courteous hand to make a suggestion.

"Do we have any snow shovels?"

She reasoned that in this situation, at least for her team, snow shovels might be more useful in uncovering the mystery at hand than a cursed gauntlet or Cloak of Silence. But what did she know? It never snowed where she was from.