Five minutes is a better offer than she would have expected. Though her instinct is to brush it aside and trust her own gut, something about him gives her pause— demons, as she knows them, aren't inclined to talk, to try and make peace. If nothing else, should he try to take the opportunity to make a break for it, she trusts herself to be fast enough to catch up to him before he can go very far.

Fine.

She exhales, lowering her sword so that the blunt end of it rests against the ground, leaning her own weight against it as her free hand comes to settle against her hip.

"Fine. Start talking. Any sudden movements and you're just asking for me to rip out your guts and hang them like streamers, though."

Just so he knows.