Across his face broke a bit of a grin, as the trajectory for this one caused the image of a bloody mess to spill into his mind. He twisted back from the strike and fell back another step as it abruptly changed course and snapped up towards his torso, but the speed of his limbs was nowhere near the trained level of hers. In this case, it didn't matter if he could predict the weapon's path or not-- his body simply didn't match the speed of his thought. This one would catch him, and he couldn't help the clear image of what it would do to him when it did.

It should have caught him.

Instead, the blade meets nothing but fabric again, slashing at his coat and shirt.
She missed.