The male says it in English. That’s something they both know. In the dark of
the alley, Tikki cannot really read his features. Light and shadow play across 
his features in a way that makes his expression seem utterly emotionless, 
impassive as stone. She knows that’s wrong. She can smell it. The male’s worked
up about something, excited. She isn’t sure if that’s good or bad, if he means
her good or ill, but she’s sure he isn’t half as indifferent or calm as a mere
glance might suggest.