She was a slim thing with a blackened face, barely more than a dark shape in the middle of vaguer, dark shades. She watched him pull up his shirt to display whatever scars she couldn't possibly see in the pitch dark. Listened to he had done because he wanted her back. He didn't seem to have heard a word she had said, didn't seem to care one bit that they had the same interest at heart, or should have, to ensure the little one would be safe. Now he was threatening her. She felt his true nature came out.<br/><br/>"She's a little girl, she's got a home here, people she loves, it'll be hard for her to leave. But that's not the point. She can stomach that, somehow, I guess. But you can't just march and camp around with her in tow until you're picked up, it's not safe." She tried to make her point again. "I'll bring her to you when I know it's safe for her to go with you." Did he understand what her doubt was about, what she needed to know before she could have a clear conscience about letting the kid go with him?<br/><br/>"So, what will you do once she's with you? Take her along on the mission, a kid? Or do what? Your plans for her is what I need to know. How you'll keep her safe till she leaves." She paused again, for it to maybe sink in, after all. "Threatening me, torturing me, searching for others, torturing and killing the people who've made sure she'd survive for six years? That's wasting time, lots of it, days, weeks. Telling me how you'll keep her safe, that'll take just a few minutes."<br/><br/>She wondered whether he'd try to grab her, now, to torture her. His people sure wouldn't help her. She knew, if he had told the truth when he threatened her, he was anything but what Jasmine needed, someone without a conscience, remorse or empathy, incapable even of gratitude towards those who had saved his daughter. He'd kill, murder, plunder and torture his way through their territory without flinching. She'd rather die than help him do that, or to lead that gang he was with to her people. Her fingers were sweaty around the machete. She didn't move. Even if she'd kill him, the others would get her in no time. She couldn't be taken, tortured, or she might betray her people. Then, she'd be dead, for even if they'd let her go eventually - wounded, crippled, she'd have no chance to survive, not here. There was only one way out, not for her, of course, but for her people. Heavy, that machete, quite suddenly.