She contemplates him from underneath a fringe of hair grown longer than its acceptable bob. This bright shade of ginger must've been under a hood or something. (Or something. Some days it's the mask and black hood, others it appears close-cropped and blonde.)

"Spending most of your time below, not above? Plenty to occupy you up there."

Would explain why their paths haven't crossed, if that's the case. Content to use her time for both interrogation and to scour her body of sewer-stink, she extends a densely muscled arm for a bar of soap without breaking eye contact.