Ivan glanced at me, expression neutral, and said like I’d asked something ridiculous, ‘More.’
He rolled his shoulders, reached under the hem of his shirt and pulled free a blade strapped diagonally across his ribs.
The guard’s eyes widened. ‘Are you kidding me?’
Ignoring him, Ivan crouched, then tugged up his trouser leg and produced a thin, wicked-looking knife strapped against his calf. Then he did the same with the other leg.
The tray looked like the weapons display at an illegal market stall.
The guard stared at it, then stared at Ivan, trying to work out what the ogre was playing at. After a beat, the guard got out a second tray since the first was threatening to create a dangerous weapons-based avalanche.
‘Why does anyone needthatmany weapons?’ the guard groused.
Ivan shrugged. ‘I like being prepared.’
‘Prepared for what?’ I muttered. ‘The apocalypse?’
Ivan’s mouth twitched. ‘You never know.’
He reached into his sleeve and slid out a narrow metal spike the length of my hand. He placed it into the new tray, then produced another.
The guard leaned forward, irritation sharpening his voice. ‘Those look like—’
‘Shivs,’ Hanlon supplied. ‘Improvised. Homemade. Family tradition.’
Maktel elbowed him.
I found my lips twitching despite myself. I was grateful for some levity before I faced my own personal daemons.
Ivan continued with the same solemn efficiency, pulling a garrotte wire from inside his collar and placing it down as if it were a tie clip he’d decided he didn’t fancy wearing tonight.
The guard recoiled. ‘Jesus—’
‘Definitely not him,’ I said. ‘He was in the forgiveness industry, not the garrotte-them club.’
The guard shot me a look, unimpressed with my sass. I was nervous, and I hated that, so I shot back a full glare.
Ivan reached into his pocket and set down a small cylindrical object.
The guard’s hand snapped out to stop it from rolling.
He lifted it carefully like it might explode. And honestly, it might. ‘What is that?’
‘Flashbang.’
The guard was aghast. ‘You’re absolutely not taking that in!’
‘Obviously. That’s why I’m giving it to you,’ Ivan said, tone mild.
The guard stared at him before placing the flashbang in the second tray with the reverence and care of a man handling a deadly venomous spider.
‘Anything else?’ the guard asked, and you could see he was praying for the answer to be no.
Ivan paused.
For the first time since he’d started, he seemed to consider the question.
He patted his jacket. Then the back of his belt. Then the pockets in his trousers.
