Throwing down the gauntlet already, huh? [ It’s dangerous on a ship this small, whispers that part of his brain that’s never not on the job. A finite number of people. A finite number of young, dark-haired men. He’s short on disguises, short on places to disappear to.

And he’s short on friends. Allies. Information.

He hits the bag a little harder this time, but the tension in his face is gone in the next second, and the grin he flashes her is bright. ]

There’s a good chance I wouldn’t leave you hanging. We could always set a time and find out for sure.