[ if this were a different time, he might be a bit more vocal about the fact that she's clearly overexerting herself, pushing herself harder than she needs to considering there's no reason she needs to be carrying as many jobs as she is, especially not in this place where most of what they're doing isn't meant to be real in the first place.

but their relationship being on the far end of complicated means anything out of his mouth wouldn't matter to shit, with no place to tell her what she should or shouldn't do.

still, he's here, in the darkness of the late hours of the night, seeing the obvious hints of her frustration, like he's sure that with a bit more light, he imagines he'd probably even see her shaking from it.

for a moment, he says nothing at all, like he's deciding carefully on it, before he crosses his arms, speaking plainly. ]

Probably had to do with the way you're standing. It's all stiff. Knife isn't gonna go anywhere if you're not propelling it down a specific path. [ he nods his head, lifting a finger from his still crossed arms to point towards her feet. ] Same with those bullets. You've got sloppy foot work. It restricts your range.