[ It's a step he can see himself taking, the notepad, but he's happy to hand off the reins and make the most of this opportunity to survey her. Proactive, clearly. There's some distress, but why wouldn't there be? She's handling it well. Used to stressful situations, perhaps?

Or a plant. It's another reason to consider his hand carefully before he tips it — maybe she's testing his honesty, or this is some wildly theatrical means of interrogating him. Efforts by the GCPD had, thus far, been quite unproductive.

Or she's innocent anyway, as alarmed as he is, and there would be no sense frightening her. So he runs his last waking hours through a filter, chewing the inside of his cheek and wringing the fastening strap of his robe in his hands. ]

I'm from Gotham. Large city, New Jersey. [ A smaller city, now. Washed away. ] I was... [-in prison-] at my mother's old home. Waiting out some horrible weather. I'd just had a falling out with a friend.

[ Irritation flavors the final word, he can't help that, but he otherwise relays this information coolly. Facts and data. His eyes rise from the pad to her before asking, quietly: ] Are you alright?