Nope. Definitely not comfortable with any of this. Any moment now her guard was going to turn on him and run him through. Gin could just feel it.
Deep in his gut, he could feel it.
Watching at the book was slid onto the bench beside him, Gin rather wished his cloths were cleaner. He wasn't exactly dripping in filth and grime, but he did live on the road and had just been in a cell after having been caught stealing. Nothing about that screamed being fit for transport in a carriage. “Ain't really got one,” he answered honestly. “Ain't been ever given one.” He took a deep breath and looked down at the book, then over to his hands.
“Just give different names depending on where I am.” Or who he was with. That old woman that gave him all the little pies knew him as Robert. He had tricks for keeping it all straight, but that wasn't anything to get into at the moment. The only real sort of name he had was one he had for himself that he didn't really use where he was at risk for getting caught.