Marcus raises his wrists at her prompt, still keeping his body language tightly wound to the core, but not unavailable. The sleeve on his right arm slips enough to then to show the bandaging that's occurred somewhere around his forearm, the dressing a couple of days old at least, maybe longer, and the sleeve itself stained stiff with dried blood.

"During the fight," he explains, clearing his throat. "One got me with their blade."

And then they did him the courtesy of seeing to the wound, is the implicit addition.