She has a good point. A damn good point. Jim hates going unarmed, but he can easily think of several memories that would be dangerous for any bystanders, and the horrifying thought that he might harm Hunter in the grips of his darkest nightmares is enough to convince him.

He immediately unholsters his phaser and hands it over to Hunter, before bending down to pull his knife from his boot.

He clutches the knife against his chest, a white-knuckled grip around the handle, as he listens to the sound of footsteps, just outside the building. He hadn't thought the colonists who lived here would be back so soon. His makeshift bag, a sweater with the neck tied shut, only carries a few small items he's managed to find - a water bottle, two small pieces of chocolate, a wilted handful of lettuce. Not enough. But there's little else to find, all the real food rationed away to nothing, the tiny hoard under guard at the governor's house. Too dangerous to raid.

He can't risk getting caught. Not now.

Jimmy grabs the sweater and heads for the back door as quietly as possible, but he only makes it halfway there before a hand closes roughly on his shoulder, and he panics, swinging around with the knife, its edge biting into flesh and spraying him with red. The man bellows, falling back and clutching at the gash in his belly, cursing as blood spills over his hand.

He doesn't wait to see what happens next.