There's a prickle of annoyance at the back of her neck. I see what you're doing there, she thinks, with the silent treatment and the immobility. Men always tried to intimidate her—or at least, they tried until they realised that it got no change out of her. Even if she can't see his face, she looks back at him directly, her expression blank and not displaying the very real alarm that she's also feeling.

And she's keeping her hands where he can see them. She knows how that works too.

She's tempted to simply meet his silence with her own and see how long it is before he breaks, and she does take rather longer to respond than maybe is entirely wise. Finally she says, "Have you heard of a drug called Dust?"