That sense of not being alone is enough to turn Jaime's head, his hand immediately circling the hilt of his blade by the time Data is officially making his presence known. The knight turns readily without actually startling, allowing an inch or two of steel to shine above sheath. He steps towards Data as if to reclaim his own authority of the space, a mark of puzzlement writing between his brows.

It's an affect, rather than genuine bafflement (he's seen in Baedal too long to be off-put so easily), sort of designed to give the impression that Data ought to be answering questions rather than asking any.

But he nods, after a beat's worth of silence. "A crone," he clarifies, the corner of his mouth hooking up. "Is this the moment where you attempt to rob me or carry out some other conspiracy? She chose poorly her mark if so."