He was trying to make a point. Maybe it was in the worst of ways-- not in the kindest of ways-- but she had to see. He didn't know what brought it on. Perhaps the memories of the last time people knew her routine. Perhaps it was knowing she couldn't really through but one good punch at a time. And maybe it was just needing to know.

The hand that held the pocket knife went instinctively to steady her before dropping uselessly to his side. His expression didn't change from the serious, set look he had on before.

"Of course I mean right now," he said with an exhale, "you don't get to choose when you fight, do you? Or who? So let's do it." Because he wouldn't try to hurt her, that much she had to know, but he was also confident in what he knew about her.

"I'm not always going to be around, Hermione," he fumbled with a breath, "I've seen you. You're awful. So you've gotta learn someday because there's gonna come a time--" He swallowed and shrugged. He'd long since realized he may die in a monster battle one day, or she might. Or anyone. He knew and expected it in the war against the Titans just last summer. Maybe that was why this was so important. Regardless, it didn't stop him from treating it like he didn't know the fate of a demigod.