Marroc felt his body go tense. his first thought was an assassin. Even then it was unreasonable to think they could get inside without assistance. Six floors up, no fire exit and his lock system had been completely untouched. Unless Hel brought her here, but that seemed even less likely, she kept out of family affairs and didn't pick up living strays.
In an attempt to look nonthreatening, he slowly approached her, his hands out of his pockets. He examined the expression, a strange mixture of anxiety and amusement on the surface, enhanced by the smudged eyeliner below her eyes. But in the eyes themselves he could almost smell the feral fight within. As soon as he was a meter away from her, he crouched down to her level, holding eye contact.
A moment of silence hung in the room.
"Who are you-" They spoke in unison.
Irritation instantly struck him, how could he think this burglar was an assassin.
"Right, you can leave now." He said, encouraging her to leave.
"Wait, at least tell me where I am!" She exclaimed, not confident enough to outright admit she hadn't the faintest idea how she had gotten there.
Marroc completely ignored her question and moved onto gathering her shoes and moved to the front door. The idea that someone got past his security was still bugging him. He would need to take greater means to keep unwanted visitors out. If this street rat could get inside when his family got tired of his shenanigans they wouldn't have problems finding him and getting in. Perhaps hiring a bodyguard, to at least housekeep, and inform him when something happened.
Turning back he noticed she hadn't budged from the spot he had left her. Sighing, he went back, lifting her up by the arm, "Really, you can leave now, I won't call the police if you don't make a scene."
"Wait!" she exclaimed, now fighting back. She had not expected the person to not reconise her, which made her uneasy, "You have to at least tell me where I am!"
"I don't need to tell you anything, you broke into my home, you should have a very good idea where we are" he snapped pushing her out the door.
"Wa-" she turned around to try to stop him closing the door.
Marroc had a much faster reflex and closed the door faster than she could protest. But slow enough for his eyes to catch an unusual mark on the back of her neck. Unusual, but familiar enough to make his stomach turn and instantly regret not keeping her longer to ask more questions.