He's turned so wholly inward for a moment that at first seems that Hattie's voice is coming from somewhere far away rather than simply from across the room. Every muscle in his body is tensed as if pinned by the indecision, undecided as to whether he should fight or flee- and even when Warsman hears the tell-tale swish of cloth being replaced he only barely begins to relax, feet slowly meeting the floor again and uncurling his torso.

His hands are the last things he lowers, first peering between his fingers to make sure that the mirror has been covered. With each unsteady breath his shoulders rise and fall, trying to establish a rhythm he could call soothing.

"... n-no... it's just today... I don't know what's going on, but mirrors..." he says eventually, even if his voice tails off. Warsman curls his hands into fists in his lap, staring fixedly down at them so he doesn't have to face the shame of meeting Hattie's eyes. She was to the side of the mirror so she might not have noticed, but- but he has to ask. He has to know. "... did you see anything?"