She'd needed to get her bearings. Get her bearings on her own, without oh-so-reasonable blond Americans hovering around, trying so carefully to be helpful. It is not that she's paranoid, she doesn't think, just that friendly can be a mask and she needs to gather her own evidence.

Like the shadows, casting themselves in the wrong direction.

Kate's busy glaring at those shadows, wringing out her hair again as she does, when she notices the man. She doesn't startle. She doesn't jump. She does not. She just blinks, startled, and gathers herself back in.

He's a short man, maybe around her own age. Stocky. Scarred. Long haired. Same coloured clothes as Mr Becket.

"Hullo."