If Noa were a lesser person, about the time Gin drew her knife on Violet would’ve been the moment to panic, but there are advantages to having a level head, thankfully, and tantamount is her resolve to keep some level of control of the situation unfolding in front of her.
“Make me,” Noa breathes, barely a twitch in her muscles. “It ain’t Violet you want to cut up anyway, sweetheart.” She knows she’s inviting danger into her space, taunting a crazed snake of a woman, but it’s bait as good as anything. Noa knows she’s a better target for Gin’s rage than the poor bitch who was unlucky enough to cross her path first. Noa’s done pushing for an answer, she’s done with Gin’s attitude, and her resolve to flee or cause pain.