She knew more than she was letting on - then again, that was her weapon. That was the way she lived her life, mostly on her wits.
He'd been watching her for longer than he should, longer than he'd been contracted to. He'd taken the case on (and that sounded ridiculous, he wasn't a detective, he was just a man) and had found himself captivated.
It wasn't lust. Wasn't love either. Neither of those things interested him, especially not with her (she may have been beautiful, once, a long time ago, or maybe she would become it when she grew up).
He didn't know what it was - that was probably why he was so fascinated.
She knew that he wasn't an innocent bystander, who happened to bump into her by accident. She knew that his smile wasn't reaching his eyes, she knew that he was studied, methodical. She knew that he was planning all of this, that he was scripting it all.
She could see the sadness in his eyes.
"You don't know everything. I promise."
The way she says it is comforting, her hand on his arm - as if ignorance is some sort of security blanket.
There's something haunted in those eyes.
"Neither do you." He says it softly, and even as the words leave his mouth he is uncertain - as it forms, enters the world, he knows it is a lie.
She shook her head. "I will never know what it is not to know." She tips her head, and in a heartbeat she is beautiful (but only for the heartbeat) "Is that a paradox?"
He smiles, because he can do nothing else.
"I know everything...but I understand nothing..." She looks away, as if she expects to fade away, now that she's said it aloud.