Matt lifted a hand, rubbing a palm against the back of his neck in response to her statement about his being a hero. He was no hero by any stretch of a measure, but he did what he could. Some might call that heroic. Others called it terrorism. He was a vigilante, and his name was whispered on the streets. The Crimson Devil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Could you call a Devil a hero?
Lowering his hand back to his side, Matt listened. He kept his calm against the harshness of her words and he felt a little bad for her. That had to suck. While she was risky to humans like him, it sounded like she knew how to control her urges. The morgue would help her. He recalled her ID badge from when they had first met. And that somewhat explained the cats.