It's probably questionable how much of it he catches.

There's a movement of Sara's fingers, down and inward, to a dagger lying inside her jacket sleeve, along the bottom of her wrist, and her fingers go there, almost nye instantly when the shadow on the floor moves toward her. Pads of fingers on the bottom of a flat, razor sharp, throwing dagger, when the darkness tugs on her shoe and she stands a little fast.

But the patch moves and he reappears on the pinball machine, only to nearly knock the thing over. Seeming just like the kid he is, even the hairs on the back of her neck as a little raised all the same. One set of fingers holding a drink. The other still with two fingertips pressed to metal. Relaxed, but unreleased. Her head tilted slightly considering him.

It brings the question back she'd avoided only half the minute earlier. "So, you're a meta."