Solomon's brows lift at her answer, and his perceptive gaze continues to watch her for clues, for the insights that people give without knowing it, all the time if you know how to look. He can already see she is fearsome. He doesn't know why Jo trusts this Hellhound to be here, to stay here, but it's something he wants to find out.
"She's never liked Hellhounds. Or Hellhounds-on-hiatus," he adds, a nod to her assertions that she isn't one, 'right now'. "I haven't, either, to tell you the truth. There's a lot of bad history." He thinks of Torrie, of her troubles and of how this reborn world could have been a second chance at a life without substances but for those Hellhounds, but regret isn't something that he carries. Neither, usually, is revenge.
His long first finger alights on one of the papers where it looks like it might fall off the edge of the table, but he merely pushes it back onto the surface instead of snooping. "Mind if I ask who you're revenging?"