She really shouldn't have been surprised to see him pull out her sword, clean and undamaged. In fact, it actually looked better than ever – like they'd taken the time to restore it from mint condition. Lexa found herself irritated this, that they thought they had any right to alter her sword. She took it from the man and held it down by her side, still not speaking. Its familiar weight grounded her. 

Smug pride tinged her as she looked at his robotic hand – a replacement for the flesh one she'd ruined. Served the bastard right. 

Lexa met his patronizing questions with stony silence. He was speaking to her like she was a child and it only served to stoke her irritation. She told herself she didn't give a shit whatever he had to say. She knew who she was, her own past. Lexa knew where she came from. Her powers were just a freak occurrence. And Shirley was by all accounts a murderous, sociopathic prick. 

But still, Lexa stayed.