She unwrapped the Saran wrap she'd used on the halva, grabbing a knife from the drawer to cut a small piece. Aside from the baby's breath--her mother's secret ingredient--it was a fairly standard recipe: Tahini, sugar, honey, and pistachios for texture. Like all of her mother's recipes, it was a comfort food. She wasn't nearly the cook that her mother had been, but since moving out on her own-ish, she'd gotten better. Trying her hand at her mother's recipes was therapeutic, especially when the city started to get to her.

"You remember that Triad fire from a few months ago?" she said, walking over to him with the sticky treat pinched between her fingers. "Turns out, there was a witness who saw the whole thing." Nevermind that the witness had been a bed of tulips in a flower box down the street. Tulips, in her experience, were particularly chatty flowers. She'd gleaned some information about the scene that she could never have picked up using standard investigation techniques.

But she left it there.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Matt. But he was a human, which meant she needed to be particularly vague about all her work, to maintain the Masquerade.

She knelt down beside his chair, holding the halva out to him, just in front of his face. "Three inches forward," she commanded.