And Robin watches ravenously, picking apart every detail as if it was, in itself, the answer to all of his questions. And he has so many questions... He keeps himself collected, sitting as if he merely had polite interest in the other party, but it is only a calculated shell. It is hard to keep his fingers still when they itch with a want to touch and press and dig and dig and dig.

He keeps holding their hand though, gently, so long as they don't try to take it back. He also thinks of killing them, or not killing them, and being equally ready for either.

"So," leaning in towards his find, propelled by ravaging curiosity, "You are not a monster...?"

It could almost pass as a statement, rather than a question.