It always feels a little bit like oversharing, like it's something she should keep locked away, personal and secret, despite the fact that the Bateman murders dominated Darrow's news cycle for a while some years ago. Molly has found that it tends to be inevitable, though, especially with anyone she intends to sleep with. In this case, she isn't expecting to be met with a fairly similar story. She doesn't know what happened, but it's not her place to ask; it's just a common ground of sorts that makes her feel all the more comfortable with the direction the night is heading. As with anything, it could just be a line, a way of putting her at ease, but she's not so paranoid that she would assume that. He's been straightforward so far, hasn't balked at the idea of her letting someone know where she'll be, and that says a lot, even if she knows from past experience that she can't always trust her own judgment.

"Kind of a shitty thing to have in common," she says, lightly teasing, at least as much as the situation allows. "But you get it, then." She doesn't know how far those similarities extend, but she imagines that he'd probably understand her instinctive caution. Hell, there are more benign dangers to be aware of, too, various types of fucked up in the scale between good guys and serial killers. Usually, she thinks, the ones who'd protest and call such precautions excessive are ones who might fit somewhere in the middle there.

So far, this seems like a good thing. Certainly it's helping take her mind off today's turn of events, which is exactly what she'd been looking for. When the car stops, she takes his hand as she gets out of the car, making sure all her belongings are with her before she shuts the door behind her. "It is nice," she says. "I don't get out to this part of town very often."