Being from the nineteenth century as she is, Evie hears the word mace and thinks of something else entirely; it probably says something about her background that she doesn't find the mental image of a woman wielding a bludgeoning weapon at all alarming. She takes Anne's hand, polite and brief, her grip maybe a little firmer than might be expected — and that's when she notices the other woman's skin is warmer than perhaps it ought to be, and the small red welts along the length of her arms.

"Miss Weying," she says. "The pleasure is mine." She really is very polite, and a very decent person for being a trained killer. Evie allows a suitable pause, then, "I apologize for my forwardness, but could you tell me where you got these?"

She takes one of Anne's forearms at the wrist in a loose hold and turns it so the welts are more visible. On closer inspection, they really do look like insect bites.