Malachi’s frown lasted only for a moment, replaced soon after with a careful, practiced neutrality. He wasn’t disappointed in him for not having killed a man, of course – his casual admission just raised more doubts than it smothered.

So, rather than say as much to Arthur, he hummed a low sound of acknowledgement and left the matter alone.

It didn’t matter in any case. Lies, at least, were like a well-worn coat draped over his shoulders.

At the mention of Mable, Malachi glanced over with a narrowed gaze – it was unclear by the way he mirrored Arthur’s squint if he was annoyed or merely bothered by the sun.

“She…”

He had promised honesty, even if he was not sure how far that extended on Arthur’s side.

“…She’s a girl I’ve been taking care of. She and her brother were on the street when I found them, and I’ve been trying to help them settle in. As for what you would do,” Malachi averted his eyes, watching the road before them as they walked. “I have no idea what you’re capable of. What reason did I have not to believe you?”