[She doesn't pull away, but she does look down at their joined hands.
He trusts her. He thinks she's the way she used to be. Now is her chance. She could just hug him and when his guard is down...
Shuddering, she looks off to the side with a pained expression, but still doesn't remove her hands from his. As hard as this is she still craves that contact. She wants to hug him, but she's afraid. She feels ashamed of the thoughts passing through her mind. There was always a calmness before—an ease. It was somehow possible to reconcile the warm attachments she had with the cold need to kill. And now there is only the conflict—only the struggle.]