Sentinel remains quiet and attentive throughout the length of Tarn's proclamation, though his expression is stony and never wavers. He doesn't react at all until he cocks his head, slightly, at the heliformer. Medic. Curious. It would explain the limp.

"Your bravado, though laudable, is sorely misplaced," he says with tired incredulity, settling his gaze again squarely on Tarn and shaking his head once in something like pity. "You, who can hardly shield your companion, threaten a Prime?" Sentinel makes a low, disparaging sound and his lip curls in a sneer. "You would allow me that which is already my right? Indeed." What little humour there is in his voice fades, replaced entirely by scorn as he starts closing the gap between them. "You, a pair of mongrels rooting in the dust for scraps…."

And then, unless they get any ideas about attempting to carry out their ridiculous threats, he strides past them to collect his samples. He has work to do, work that is far more important to him than continuing to subject himself to all this posturing.