It could be called luck that Natasha notices the hunter, if the smell of blood in the air—human and fae—can be called luck. As hungry as Natasha is from feeding on animals, she smells it from a block away. It takes her a moment to get control of her instincts, but it's faint enough that the stab of thirst from her throat isn't overwhelming. Another few seconds before she decides whether or not its safe to investigate.

In the end, though, the fact there's blood being spilled on her patrol is enough of a reason to investigate. Even with the risk.

Hesitation and all, she's still in the ally quickly enough that the bodies haven't been moved yet. The scene she finds makes her jaw clench, her eyes going from one body to the other, then to the hunter. Seems safe to assume that's what she is.

"I get why you killed him," she says evenly, her eyes skittering away from the silver pendant reflexively. It's not hard to tell which body is the source of the fae scent. "But what'd she do? Wrong place at the wrong time?"