“What—?” Surprise audibly escapes her before she can stop herself, her eyes going wide as she recoils at the immediate failure of the ambush. Throwing knives aren’t practical, she’s told herself time and time again— But in such close quarters… Hawke had a clear shot. It wasn’t nerves that set her aim askew. It was something else entirely, something that clanged and rang aloud like metal against metal. Like armor, she thinks, though there’s none in sight. Armor is bulky, not form-fitting or easily hidden. Another trick of the Capitol, then?

She’ll have to hope the rest of him isn’t so resistant to injury. Only one way to find out.

While she took a small step back from the initial shock of the encounter, the mage is quick to adjust on her feet, brandishing the spear instead and thrusting it forward. There’s no move made to run him through, however, not yet. It’s a tactic to herd him backwards, keep him on the defensive.

“What’s your name?” The question comes out as a snarl with bared teeth, a demand, accented by another lunge of the spear. Her rage is too far gone, and lying is as likely to incite action as honesty is, at this point. At least she’s asking. A courtesy accompanied by a defiant stare and hostile body language, more feral than tame.