Steve frowns at that but lets himself in. Once in the open doorway he looks from the stick to Annie, mouth pressing into a line and his next breath pushed out through his nose. Crystal clear, he'd say, and her stature has little to do with it either way; he knows what a woman her size can do. It's not that he can't appreciate that she has reasons for her caution, and no, one conversation about art isn't enough to establish trust. But for him, it's enough to establish a basis for choosing to go forward, his disappointment for the fact that she hasn't met him halfway. Still, it's why he closes the door behind himself and does as she asks, keeping his hands in her line of sight while he moves to the couch and sits on it. He wishes he'd been able to completely clean the dirt from digging Karen's grave with Frank last night from under his nails, but he's not sure he won't just need to let the deepest grit work itself out or hope they come by a brush or file.

"Something happened last night that you should know about," he says, looking Annie in the eye and not at her makeshift weapon. "Both of you."

His gaze stays on her and doesn't stray toward any of the rooms where Finnick is likely hiding, because he doesn't mean to rob them of the illusion of safety or make his statement into a threat. "I'm not gonna attack you. Will you put it down so we can talk?"