It usually didn't take Terrence very long to mentally translate what she said to what she meant, even back when he hadn't had years of practice. He didn't need to see inside her mind when he knew every inch of her body, could see what she didn't say in the lines of tension in her muscles and posture. It was, essentially, what he'd guessed.
"She's dead," he said tiredly, feeling exhausted and defeated and yet not quite out of hope. "Because she couldn't take a fucking hint, and then she touched my jacket. I couldn't stand her fucking perfume, or her fucking voice, or the idea of..."
He trailed off, eyes closing. It was taking everything he had not to reach for her, but she could see through him just as well as he could see through her, and there was just as much turmoil in his head, albeit of a different variety. "I haven't even gotten rid of the body, I had too many other people to hunt. If you want any part in taking care of it, you can."