Joan knows what she thinks he wants, but she's at least not stupid enough to say it. In the off chance she's luckier than she feels today, she doesn't want to give him any ideas. When pressed, she likes to think she's not a terrible judge of character, she just prefers to fight people than to read them. Seems more honest. She finds the directness refreshing.

And really, how good can a seventeen-year-old be at any one thing?

"I think you wanna see me sweat," is the first sensible thing she can think of to say. It's the first thing that doesn't sound like the description on the back of a direct-to-video slasher film.

She looks back at the bag still sitting on the hood of the car. If only she could get to it. If only she could turn this around. Christ, why hasn't he shot her yet? Why is he giving her so much time? Why is he asking her questions? Jesus, is he playing mind games with her?

Knifearm is smarter than he looks, and that's fucking terrifying.

"Is this some kind of fucking test?"