Right for the sternum, jaw tight and darting in as much as Mal moves away, the give and take and synching of his heartbeat comfortable in it's familiarity. Just like the night before in the club and he sees the block as it comes, slides the tip of his staff just under and stops shy of Malcolm's skin.

"One zero." There's an odd cadence to his speech, softer, more clipped. Shades of Carolina everywhere like this but the smirk is all him. "Get your head in the game, Mal."