Greta purses her lips in playful recrimination at the compliment, because honestly, but Rush's mild explanation and outstretched hand are enough to snuff out her good humor. She might be persuaded to believe that he's feeling exceptionally charitable towards her for some reason, but inviting her to take his hand is too far beyond the call of duty. If he had no choice, if things were desperate... he might allow it then, begrudgingly and with ill grace. But not--never like this.

The faint memory of another person who looked like Rush but wasn't rises to the surface, and Greta takes an uncertain step backwards. "I--who are you?" she asks, far too bluntly. She can feel her cheeks coloring, because whoever he is, he doesn't deserve her snapping at him. But the question is out, now, and she's too unnerved to apologize.