No, it... it's not. The target is gone. He's not even sure, now, who he was really looking for. He lets go, sidles away from the poor guy who bears only a very passing resemblance to a young Alexander Pierce, away from Yelena. He keeps the knife out, not sure what to do with it, shakes his head sharply and presses the fist not holding the knife to his temple.

There had been a handler. Now there wasn't one. Just the lots of unimportant ones at the ADI, none of whom acted remotely like a handler should.

The erstewhile grabb-ee, perhaps wisely, bolts.