She pulls out a small black canister and sets it on the table.
Tony’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Other side,” she continues, reaching into another hidden pocket, “mini flashlight and a tactical pen.”
She places both next to the pepper spray. The pen looks ordinary, but something about its weight suggests otherwise.
“That thing breaks bones?” Hunter asks.
“Glass, mostly,” she says casually.
My eyes widen.
She taps her chest next.
“Bra holster.”
Tony nearly chokes. “You have a bra holster?”
Viper pulls out a slim folding knife and flips it open before snapping it shut again.
“Small blade,” she says. “Last resort.”
She slides it back into place like this is completely normal.
I stare at her. “You carry all of that… all the time?”
“Mostly.”
Next, she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans.
“Front pocket—kubotan.”
She pulls out a small metal rod.
“Pain compliance tool,” she explains. “Works great on knuckles, ribs, or pressure points.”
Hunter nods approvingly.
Tony looks mildly horrified.
Then Viper lifts one boot onto the table.
“Boot sheath.”
She pulls out a tiny fixed-blade knife.
Tony throws his hands up. “How are you even allowed in public?”
Viper grins. “Confidence.”
I can’t help laughing.
“Okay,” I say. “Now I understand why you’ll feel naked tomorrow.”
She nods. “Exactly. On the runway, I can’t carry any of it.”
Izzy lifts a hand.
