[ while her secrets may be something to gain him the upper-hand, he hasn't used it yet. perhaps he just hasn't had the opportunity, but he hasn't, nonetheless. ]

It's not like I can't see the draw.

[ running his hands back through his hair (it falls over his temples perfectly, btw), he crosses the room to the sword that's leaning very un-perilously against one of the hotel walls. it doesn't look like much, even when he grabs it by the neck and pulls it from its sheath.

there's a golden gleam of a sharp edge, and he weighs it in his hand before turning toward her, the blade pointed at the floor. ]

Be forewarned, it will hurt ... But the closer you become to accepting whatever it is, the less the sword can affect you. [ a pause. ] It's interesting, isn't it? The sword draws out the truth, breaks falsehoods, and draws out corruption, but it's still considered a curse.

[ with a wave of his free hand, he offers it to her. ]

A testament to fragility, I suppose.