There is a pause of a few seconds. Laura's gaze is ruthlessly assessing and pointed with a focused intensity that's at odds with her diminutive frame.

But not with those knives in her hands.

Then Laura's posture relaxes as her claws slide back into her hands with a light snikt. (She's got gloves on. They could be retracting into some kind of mechanism. Or they could, you know, be coming out of her hands, which while weird is not at all the most alarming thing in this situation.)

She doesn't say anything, but inclines her head the slightest amount, an invitation to go on. Not chatty, this one.