Rex is standing up on the balls of his feet, eyes scanning through a cluster of people in an attempt to locate Iago. So far, no good. The soldier must be in another room, schmoozing, caught up in a conversation, doing what he does best. He sighs and falls back on his heels, bringing a glass of something that tastes like punch (but isn't) to his lips. There's only so much revelry he can observe, and he's pretty sure this whole trip's a wash. As soon as Iago emerges, they're going home.

He's aware of somebody approaching-- catching her movement in his peripheral vision, and unconsciously his body tenses a little. Keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, Rex takes another drink, waiting for her to walk by him, but when that doesn't happen, he turns his head to look at her and then freezes, his expression stuck in wide-eyed disbelief at the familiar face. He meets her eyes for a moment, then pulls his gaze down a little, taking in the scars that set her apart from Wichita.

It's not her. Rex glances to the side, seeming to fixate on the crowd as his mind processes this unexpected turn.

Just a stranger, somebody he can write off, somebody he's about to write off... until she speaks. An innocent question, perhaps, but it's enough to send him reeling into uncertainty. Rex takes a quick moment to compose himself, taking a sip of his drink to stall for time, then looks at her with a bland, neutral expression.

"I don't think so." Shrugging, he offers a polite half-smile and cocks his head to the side as if to indicate the great big wide world. "Maybe our paths crossed out there?"