Trust. 

It wasn't often in his line of work that people like him found someone they could trust. Looking at Rachel now, he could tell that despite the months of silence he could trust her. How much he could trust her with remained to be seen, but after what had happened to him over the last few months, he was clearly different than the overconfident assassin she had met. Back then, he overestimated his abilities, and it cost him. Now, he knew where he stood, and what that meant for his combat abilities. His enhancements had been...inaccessible since Mason's death, but were swiftly returning now. 

As Rachel led him up the spiral, rusted staircase, Grant took in his surroundings, his tactical mind working up what could be used as defensive and offensive advantages in case of assault. The long, tight corridors could funnel enemies in a line, and the rooms, from what glimpses he got of them, were an offensive gold mine of improvise-able weapons. Though, defensively, the walls were thin, and anything over a .22 caliber round would shred the walls like cardboard. The rebar was sticking out in several places, which was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it could be ripped out, or used to pin enemies to the admittedly thin walls. On the other hand, were the enemy to use it against him...

"You chose the area surrounding your safe house well." He commented.

When the two of them arrived atop the apartment complex, Grant sat down on the edge of the roof, and looked at her with his single green eye. 

"You've got questions, I can tell. What do you want to know? Ah, right the eye. Well, I....'d rather not talk about that. It's a painful thing to recall. As to where I've been, I was all over the world, mostly in Russia, working as a mercenary. No killing jobs,though. I got better with my attitude though. I'm not the same overconfident man you met. I know my limits."