His presumption is unexpected. Not entirely unfound given how debilitating the country is right now, yet still unpredicted enough to amuse and garner her attention. “What if I am?” She asks, unmoved. “What are you going to do? Stop me?” The slight scoff in her tone is evident, despite no outward change to her expression. Finally opening her eyes, Arden shifts them up towards the man. She doesn’t care who he is, but he has earned her temporary interest — especially since the origins of his profanity has not escaped her. Contrarily, it has provoked an urge to toy with him. Since he has so steadfastly decided to believe she is on the precipice of suicide, who would she be if she corrects him now when she can use it to her advantage? It’ll show her what kind of person she has within her company.
“I’m not worried about what will come through that door,” she remarks coolly as she removes her hand from the dagger. She doesn’t trust him, but she isn’t too concerned about him trying to pull anything on her at this point. Not after hearing the outrage in his voice over his own misinterpretation of her motive for being here. “But, if you fear for your safety,” she continues, removing the pair of sunglasses from her face, “it’s best if you leave now before it’s too late.” Emphasizing her point, she whips the shades across the room, watching it collide against a nearby rack and dropping noisily to the floor. “I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”