Shepard watched him flinch and fidget like a nervous politician. It was an easy way to get yourself killed, the way he was going; but she wasn't about to underestimate a self-proclaimed 'gamemaker'.

"Well don't worry about me," she held up her own hand, still bound in its makeshift brace, bruised and swollen. It had been badly broken during her torture, and wouldn't begin to approach real healing for weeks yet; by then the Arena would probably be finished, at least so far as Shepard was concerned, "If I were going to try something, I probably wouldn't have warned you."

Truth has a certain brutal ring to it, doesn't it?