She smirks a little at the comment, half-joke, full-truth. Kaz was in control now, not just in the puppetting of Haskell but for real now. The lowest of lows and ship-sinkers will be weeded out soon enough, and everyone already knows Dirthands doesn’t play fair. The thought of him wrangling his crew, settling into the official leadership position, presses a tiny smile at each corner of her mouth. It’s tangled with a soft-edged sadness, but only a little. This is practice for being away at sea. She won’t see him every day then, either. She has to get used to the way she feels the absence of him carve out a piece of her chest.

She wrinkles her nose at the response. Far. She doesn’t like it. The displeasure on her face breaks when he teases the point. “I would miss it far too much, I think.” She smiles brightly up at him.

She watches in a sort of awe as he works, and more still as one floats toward her, hovering as if on invisible string until she plucks it between two fingers from midair. “Maybe I should apprentice with the blacksmith, and learn to make my own knives.” Her own joke, with a smirk on her lips as she says it.