That he answers her is a good sign, though not by much. Whatever it is that has him in such a state, she thinks, is not something that has a complete grip on his senses. He could have ignored her and kept going, without response, even after recognizing her. He could escape her scrutiny with ease. But even for that, she does not miss the tremble in his voice, the way he reaches for some excuse to shield himself. Like her, he's the type to pretend nothing is wrong as far as he's concerned, even if it's obvious to everyone who gives a second glance—though most never bother giving more than a first.

Her hands hold tighter to the railing. She knows him, or at least, knows the potential of him, of the pieces that comprise the man hesitating on the stairs below her now. She knows enough to know she can't press him blindly—he'll leave without excuses, and would there be any chance to figure things out if he does?

"That's not what has you running so quickly." She leans a little forward, and setting her jaw tight and trying to keep concern out of her expression. It's not yet time for that. Instead, she has to prove that enough is wrong that even he'll be forced to acknowledge it.

"You wouldn't kick a girl while she's down without so much as an apology if you were only running late, sir."