No. He needs to do better than that; that's not an answer -- not even one that begins to make sense. She could tell that from the mirror; he's leaving her no more informed than she was before.

The corners of her mouth tighten. "You want me to trust you. You want me to do something for you. I need answers. I need--"

She's made a mistake, feet automatically shifting in the sand towards more of a defensive stance. She's still wobbly, limbs still too long uncommunicative with her mind, leaving her uncoordinated. Her knee snaps out of its lock, giving underneath her.