Kate steps through the room slowly, taking it all in. She can count the number of times she's been alone in a room with a man who wasn't her lover on one hand. There's always going to be a level of discomfort anywhere in the bar; it settles in the knots of scarred flesh she carries, and makes her fresh skin crawl. The guns on her hips help. Casing a room as soon as she's inside does, too.

"S'a lovely space. S'got quite the view."

She gestures to the window, smiling faintly. At his invitation, she turns around and moves toward the couch. The setting may be different, but she's steadily acquainting herself with the routine. Every week, a little more comes out.