This is the opposite of what he wants. Rashad stares wide-eyed through the foliage at a woman whose face he knows too well. He can't cope with this right now. He can't cope with the fact that he can't cope. He strongly regrets the little motion that made enough sound to draw her attention to the spot where he crouches among the ferns.

Maybe if he holds very still she will not pick him out from his surroundings. Both he and the little chameleon on his shoulder sit still as a pair of statues, both of them regrettably failing to be green at the moment.