When Jacob looked to his hand, so did he. Specifically at his missing finger. It didn't seem to hamper him. More than that, without a glove on (did he wear gloves? It felt as if he did), he could see that the wound wasn't messy. However it was that this finger had been removed, it hadn't been accidental. There were small scars that seemed to be stitches, others that seemed to be from burns. Cauterisation, then. This was deliberately inflicted.

More pieces fell into place. Arabic. And Jacob seemed to have some insight into it. The fact that he'd known how to provoke him, that a hood was important - they were linked somehow, yet Jacob didn't know him personally or he would've called him by name by now--

Unless they were enemies.

A thread of suspicion crept into his mind. He would keep that wariness, he decided, but for now, he had no better option. His body had already proven itself capable. If it came to it, he didn't doubt his ability to survive, even if his newfound guide was an enemy. But he wouldn't treat him as such until the proof was undeniable instead of merely a suspicion.

What he would say, though, is, "You know more about me than you've yet said."

He was certain of that, but he kept any accusation out of his tone. There was no accusation to make. Fact was fact.