Re: Edge of the woods
Cross appraised the woman - judgmentally, because he couldn't do it any other way - and thought that even if she was fast, deadly, good at what she did, she was injured enough that it wouldn't take him all that much effort to put her down if she came after him. Him in his long jacket and lowered hood and fingerless sleeves, his cargo pants and heavy boots - where she looked like the hotel had really just dragged her out of Vegas, he almost looked prepared.
But he had to be, when it was always almost winter. When there were people with wrist blades looking for a chance to put him underground.
He raised an eyebrow at her when she eyed him, fingers shifting on the hilt of the knife. The intensity of her stare almost unnerved him. The apology caught him by surprise. The accusation, though - the way her voice went flat and cold, like the idea of her own death didn't mean shit to her ...
"Who?" he asked, feeling the familiarity all but claw at his brain. "I'm not here to kill anybody unless they come after me first. You sure as hell looked like you wanted to." He let the knife drop into the palm of his hand, snapping it shut but not putting it away quite yet. "Just self-defense. I don't do hits." Unsanctioned ones, anyway.