Noel stared at the ten knives arranged on the carriage seat.
He reached up and dug his fingers into his own hair.
"Throw them out," he said.
Joel looked at them.
"They're my favourites," he said.
"I don't care—"
"That one has sentimental value," Joel said, pointing at the third one. "And that one I had made specifically—"
"Next!"
The shout came from outside. Their carriage rolled forward.
Noel dropped his hands and sat straight and tried to arrange his face into something that didn't look like a man sitting next to a small arsenal.
A knock on the door.
He opened it.
A guard looked in — with the kind of face that had inspected a hundred carriages tonight and expected this one to be the same as all the others.
Joel raised one hand.
"Yo," he said.
The guard looked at him and took a step back.
