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Summary
“I don’t even carry cash, really —” he continues, eyeing the blade with a distrustful look and it’s true look, he doesn’t even carry anything of value on him.
The guy laughs, like he doesn't believe Steven. Steven, in his second hand clothes, hair curled from the tube's muggy air, and he swears under his breath. The wrong guy apparently still looks like a librarian. He looks bloody awful, like a lamb to slaughter and yet. Yet he feels it, the power he knows he has been given, just beneath his skin, and Steven reluctantly gives in, watching with a wince as the beginning of white fabric takes over his fingers —
He won't be taken advantage of.