The job, that was all that really mattered.
That is, up until the point when Elizabeth shoved Booker and really looked him in the eye and called him a monster. It was a half-truth at best. Booker couldn't decide between raising his eyebrows at the accusation or shrugging off the comment with a snort. Booker knew he was no hero, but he wasn't a monster either.
"What did you think was going to happen? Hm?" Booker's voice was soft, trying to sell the girl to reason.
When she turned back around to face Booker, the frightened and frustrated look on her face had shifted into something more along concern. Was there a cut on his face?
Elizabeth tilted her head to the side a fraction and touched at Booker's face with a cloth; he winched and hissed through his teeth at the sting. Booker saw her lips form around words, but he didn't catch them.
She looks so pretty in that moment - eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she stepped forward to better wipe at the cut across Booker's cheekbone. She reminded him of someone but . . . he couldn't think of whom.
Booker felt his eyes being pulled towards the nub of a pinky finger on her right hand.