[ His expressions narrows a little. This is too much like a certain psychic he knows back home, but at the very least, Armand is making an attempt at seeking his permission. He pushes away from the door, crossing the distance between them in the blink of an eye; it's not a particular threatening movement, though there is some underlying tension in the way he stands beside him. ]

My thoughts are my own. If you want to know something, ask. [ That isn't a guarantee he'll share though. His jaw clenches. ] But I don't have any interest in killing you. Like you said, we might need each other. I'd say we probably do more than we don't.