Inej had killed for him. Somehow, that carries more weight than Kaz calling him a Crow. Yet, at the same time, it fills him with such a deep shame that he can't even protect himself. How did he expect to survive in the Barrel when he's unarmed? He can kill - he has killed, both to protect himself and on jobs for Kaz - but it's not something that he enjoys. It's something that he shies away from, even now.
Back at the Slat, he finds himself drifting into Inej's room, eager for the company - eager to not be alone. He's quiet, trembling, and laughter feels like an impossibility. It's a million miles away from the giddy night of sharing memories that passed between them all those weeks ago.
"I didn't mean -" he starts, but he stops when she hands him a knife. Wickedly sharp but small, barely the length of his hand. It gleams in the low light of the room. It's so different to the blunt, rusty knife he'd used to protect himself that same night he'd chosen survival.
"I can't take this," he says softly, cradling it like it's a precious thing. "Inej, thank you, but it's -- I'm not made for violence like this." A lie, perhaps, because he knows that he'll do whatever it takes to survive but here, far away from that necessity, the thought of killing someone so up close and personal - it feels impossible.
