She's ready to bolt at any moment, one hand bracing her against the ground for the sprint. She's not very good at them - she doesn't run much; the walk to and from school, that's the most exercise she gets lately - but it might be enough to get her to something. Not to the knife, but to something else. The cans she spotted earlier. Some kind of sustenance.

But sustenance doesn't matter if she's going to die right there and then.

Her breath catches for a moment as she realises that she might have a chance, and she pushes herself back to her feet. She knows she looks wary and distrusting at the words, but she has to take them for what they are: a temporary truce, perhaps.

There's nothing for her to say, so Ariadne says nothing at all. Her gaze darts away, making sure it isn't a trap time and again, and she nods, pose relaxing as she takes a stumbling step in the opposite direction.