He doesn't hesitate. He raises his camera and snaps a picture of her, sharp and reflexive, like he's been doing it his whole life. It's an impulse he doesn't bother to stifle, considering his background. Considering his frustration and his paranoia. Considering everything.

"We make do with what we have." He lowers the camera back to his side, as if to prove how little he cares to follow up on the idle threat. This chick - she can't be that big of a threat, surely? She's human, after all, and ordinary people don't compare to the thing that stalks his goddamn nightmares. "I don't like being watched."