Abby doesn't say anything. She wrestles the other sleeve of her gambeson up enough to expose a second elbow for him, and her hands don't falter, not once. She's apprehensive, sure, but not enough to start asking questions, and maybe asking anything at this point would be stupid; either way, Dickerson takes her wrist, and Abby blinks. She doesn't even feel him slice her open.

It'll be the adrenaline, twining with shock from looking down at Ellis' face and seeing somebody else. She covers his throat with her wet palms, and presses down, firmly. Something hot trickles down the inside of her arm; she's fucking glad she can't see exactly what Dickerson is doing with the knife down below.

"Why would I report this to anybody," is her brusque reply, the first thing she's said since she offered the blood now shimmering between them, spattering Ellis' breastplate.

The air has a pulse, and Abby can't imagine who she'd tell.