He can more than sense that apprehension in her pause. He can smell it, hear the subtle shift in her heartbeat as she thinks of how to answer him, and he knows that she's thinking of whether to tell him the truth.

It doesn't matter if she does or doesn't. It isn't as though he would know anything about where she's from or what she'd been doing before she'd found herself here. And given the ideal of not trusting strangers, he doesn't blame her for wanting to keep things to herself.

He isn't exactly known for sharing information freely, after all.

"You got in the car, and then you were here? In the shuttle?" He's trying to make some sort of connection between the time-lapse, the missing moments from when he'd been standing outside his family home to the point he'd realized he was not in Beacon Hills anymore.