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[I]He is capable of instant travel?[/I] she thought, surprised but not startled by her possible target's sudden disappearance and subsequent reappearance - although it took a couple of seconds for her to confirm that the latter had occurred, since she had to scan the area a bit to spot him, suddenly located some way above street-level. Moving anywhere from the wooden beam he was on top of now would be difficult, she reasoned... but that would naturally not be a factor if he was capable of teleporting instantaneously. [I]That would explain some of the reports of the Fixer's activities, if he can do that. And in such a state... he must be able to perform teleportation at a cost far below what others pay for such, perhaps even effortlessly. If so, it can be presumed that he can also do it repeatedly.[/I]
Her right arm twitched a little when the other vanished, her hand starting and them immediately stopping moving towards the hilt of the crystal-hilted sword at her hip. She held it in place for a second, debating with herself whether she should draw her weapon or not. Being armed in itself was often viewed as intimidating, she had observed, and having a weapon in hand was considered something that conveyed violent intent. If she drew her sword that might cause this man to attack her immediately, before she could confirm whether he was indeed her target, in which case she would be in an unfortunate dilemma, since her instructions were not to harm anyone at the moment aside from the Fixer and his associates. She was more vulnerable without her sword in hand, though, and with an opponent capable of instantaneous transportation even a momentary delay could prove fatal; if it really was the Fixer, her chances of winning even a battle she was prepared for were slim. There were better tools for this job. She was not suited for direct confrontation with an opponent of the type the Fixer reputedly was... or the one Grim once was.
In the end her hand fell back down her side, away from her sword. Her muscles remained taut and ready, though, and her thumbs moved upward just slightly so that their tips rested just behind the first phalanges of her index fingers, barely touching, ready to move downward quickly and rub along the skin in such a way that it would erase the small arcane glyphs she had drawn there.

The man turned on his perch, only to reveal to her that the lower half of his face was concealed behind a mask and the top by a crimson hood, making facial recognition - especially from this far away and this angle - unreliable at best. When he spoke his voice was distorted by some kind of hoarseness, which real or faked still served the purpose of rendering her incapable of telling whether it was the voice of the Fixer. His choice of words, though... "[I]No meaning to me.[/I]" That did not sound like something the Fixer would say, nor how anyone trying to hide the opposite of what they were saying would express themselves. An atypical response was not a reliable indicator of honesty, and since she could not read his expression or tone of voice, there was really no way for her to confirm whether or not this was the Fixer.
[I]Was[/I] it the Fixer, though? Her soul wards had detected the presence of the Grand Master's energy in this one, just as the Fixer was supposed to have, so that much fit, and although it was possible that this was not the man who had triggered the wards but had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time, he also wore an outfit with heraldry that was in accordance with the Fixer's supposed allegiance to the Crimson Dawn. If she sensed another ward being triggered she would accept that this was not the man, but as it was she had only felt the two near here giving off their signal. His size was about right for the man she had once known as Grim, although with his current posture it was too hard to determine the resemblance accurately. Then there was his reaction to her calling to him: he had used an ability that could have been utilized to eliminate her immediately to escape out of harm's way, thus giving up the advantage keeping such an ability would have represented when she had been unaware of it. Had it been Grim he would have moved behind her instead and killed her in a heartbeat the second she had spoken up. Unless his ability only allowed movement to locations within his field of vision? No, that was guesswork, no point in thinking along those lines. Besides, it was not Grim she was hunting, it was the Fixer, and as such she could not rely on him acting as Grim would have.
All in all she found that she had no way of telling whether this man was or was not the Fixer at the moment... not from this distance. If she got closer and got to inspect his eyes, however - to check for illusionary magic and the like and confirm their true appearance - then she could be sure. It was impossible to mistake Grim's eyes for anyone else's. So although that logically was the course most likely to get her killed, she had to get this man within arm's reach while he was still alive. She had to know for certain. Such were her orders.

To a Sniffer observing her, this woman would seem even stranger than she did to ordinary people, as the way her soul moved and coursed through her body was abnormally regular. Whereas common creatures of all kinds had their energy twist and writhe within them, flowing in ever-changing directions controlled by the eddies and blockades of emotion, this woman's energy flowed evenly and practically undisturbed, running through her with unobstructed ease, barely ever straying even the slightest from its natural path. Similarly she did not project emotion at all, aside perhaps from a dull constant hum of obedience. To a Sniffer more than anyone else it would be painfully and maybe unnervingly evident what she was: a person without emotions and opinions. A person who is not a person. She knew this, and she thought nothing of it; it was what her master wanted, so it was what she had to be. She did not recall being different than this, nor did she have any desire to. She had no desire at all, aside from the one to serve her master.
Her knees hurt worse now, sore from the run here. She would have to return to safety and apply heat to them, as her master had prescribed, once this was over. It would dull the pain. She had to continue functioning so that she could serve her master. For now, though, she had to stay here. She ignored her knees, and focused her attention on the man who might be the Fixer.

"I serve my master," she replied to the other's question as to her purpose, her voice and expression dispassionate as ever. Her purpose? Another anomalous phrasing, yet a question that was simpler for her to answer than the others people were likely to ask her in such a situation. "I have been ordered to find the assassin known as the Fixer." She paused briefly, then added: "Approach me and let me examine your eyes so that I can ascertain whether you are him."