He stops when she does, brow furrowing in consternation when she pulls out what appears, at first, to be a heap of fabric. It takes a moment for him to put it together - she's going to shift. She's going to speak to him. He's reassured by that, even as he's reassured by the knowledge that he was right: whoever she is, she isn't feral. She's clever. She's planned, perhaps not for meeting him, but for life in a city.

When she steps out, Derek is silent. Immediately, he gauges her age and thinks that it fits. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he studies her face closely. She and Peter share no close resemblance, but that doesn't make the possibility void. Looking at her is making his head spin: he cannot stop his mind from turning the question over and over again, is she? could she be?

Swallowing, he nods, makes an effort to appear less stricken. Warily, he glances around. Just incase.

"How do you know?"