This Evey had spent too much time hiding herself for Aidan to get an accurate read of what she was thinking. His own Evey was adept at concealing most of her emotions, she'd had to. She'd had to become a soldier of sorts. This Evey was like the white belt Akido master equivalent of skill at concealing her innermost workings.
He did not see so much as sense her command for him to sit. At this point, he could do nothing else. To deny her that little thing would be to spit in the face of everything that she was doing for him.
Aidan sat and thought. The whole truth... no. Still no. Most of the truth. Ninety nine point nine nine nine nine percent of the truth, he would tell her. He would go so far as to explain the last one he had taken the blood of had to have been something special. That he had acted so strangely toward her.
Carefully and in grotesque detail, Aidan laid out exactly what had happened. Now, outside of the haze of blood, he recalled everything. The actions he had taken, the way they had all feared him. The blood he had slipped and slid around on, the poles on the stage he had twirled on, all of it rang clear in his head as a bell. And he told her all of it. Through words he painted the picture, and when he got to the end, he detailed what the woman he'd made up looked like, the way he'd played with her, the smell of her, the taste of her blood. It wasn't until the very end that he found himself omitting one other fact - the backpack of blood. His story to Evey included that backpack, the blood in it, but instead of revealing where he'd put it, he told her he had no idea where it was.
Guilt crept up on him, and a strange kind of greed. As if she would try to take it for herself if he told her the truth.
At the end, Aidan held his breath, waiting for Evey's wrath.