He couldn't stand hearing it, the gratitude in this man's voice. His entire body went rigid. His shoulders lifted. His teeth clenched.

"Don't --"

He swallowed the rest of his words with a cough, bringing his unoccupied hand to pinch the bridge of his nose ... and then wincing when he remembered it had been broken. He inhaled. Exhaled. The ground was spinning underneath him, and his stomach felt like it was no longer connected with the rest of his body.

"You don't owe me anything," he finished, although he couldn't make the wince disappear. His forehead was knotted with wrinkles. His eyes blinked too fast. "Not a thing."

And then he was throwing a punch at Neffa, the sharp blade of the pocket knife nestled between his knuckles.