She watches him, brow furrowed low, eyes seeking. For a long, silent moment she wrestles with the urge to keep walking away, to leave him to his own devices. And what if she does, and he does something stupid? What if she stays, and he just plants more knives in her chest for being stupid enough to care?

One more tentative step closer. She speaks quietly: "What you said about being a spy...was that true?"