The silence just allowed the echoes of the question to play out in Nox’s mind, reminding him of his own unwinnable war against the never-ending tide of conmen and criminals. He was trying to clean up these parts, but every time he rubbed away a stain, he found another layer of dirt beneath. So, you could give up—or you could keep on scrubbing.

The Coilhunter wasn’t much of a talker. He liked to keep things short and sweet, just like the lives of criminals. Well, the short bit anyway.

He wondered if they knew fear, and thought that maybe if they didn’t, he could teach them it, like he’d taught manners to the foul-tongued and the red-handed.

Some criminals said fighting Nox was like fighting ghosts. He seemed to come from everywhere. Most criminals who fought Nox never said anything at all.