"You are," Noah countered, stepping closer to the bed and tilting his head to look at her. "I've seen weaker subjects fall to pieces and it's a great deal... messier," he said simply. She offered to tell him what she knew and he arched an eyebrow. That always came in time, with most of them. They were always willing to tell them everything they could possibly think of if it would ease the pain, set them free. It rarely did.
He smiled, lips pressed thin in the vaguely sympathetic expression. "No, I'm not going to kill you." Noah listened to her, watching her as she plead and he shook his head, "But I'm not going to let you go either." He crossed the rest of the distance and stood over the bed she was chained to. "You didn't do anything," Noah explained, "Aside from being in the wrong place at the wrong time." Taking a chair, he pulled it up to the bedside and sat down. "But you're going to help us." He didn't really answer any of the questions she asked or acknowledge any of the pleas she made, offering only the information he felt like providing.
Noah lifted the cup he had carried in, "I can't let you go home, but I do have something for you." He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a straw, opening it and slipping it into the cup. Leaning forward a bit, he angled the cup toward her so that she could sip from the straw. It was animal blood, not human, and it wasn't much, but it would be enough to keep her from starving at the very least.