"A mess, huh," he said. "Yeah, I like my apartment just like it is, and my TV and PS3 completely intact. Probably is better off without you in it." Samuel drew a deep breath he prayed would bleed away at least a fraction of his growing impatience. He counted a beat, then two; it seemed to do precious little good. He could leave her here, he knew. Someone would be along sooner or later, and even barring the intercession of a second socially conscious apartment dweller, she would be safe enough within the confines of the lobby. But some thin and tenuous thread of decency kept him there, waiting for any semblance of reason to light up her eyes. Instead there was only the ever deepening sense that she was looking past him, somehow, seeing something he had not seen for himself. Whatever it was stirred again in answer, bringing a renewed tightness to his jaw, a straightening to his spine.
Whether it was the late hour or simply his weak and waning ability to deal with the situation, her needling was beginning to get under his skin. Deception did not occur to him; he hardly feared her retribution, and there was a slim chance - very slim indeed, he had to admit - that she would reciprocate with information of her own. "Seven-oh-seven. Your turn."