Jess assumes the news about a predator on the loose accounts for the increase in tension in Credence's posture. Anyone with an ounce of self-preservation would look a little ill at living in a veritable deathtrap.

Fear is good. It might just keep this guy alive.

"We haven't officially met yet. I'm Jess Brightwell. I'm set up at the inn, too," he says, stepping forward with hand outstretched, deciding he ought to at least make introductions if he's going to continue to be an alarmist in front of newcomers.

Plus, a handshake gives him an excuse to do what he does next. From under his coat, Jess pulls out one of his knives and flips it around, holding the grip out to Credence. It's not a pretty piece of work, being a repurposed piece of scrap metal sharpened and reshaped into a blade with a handle he'd wrapped himself, but it gets the job done.

The other can repeat that he'd thought the village was safe as much as he wants. It's not going to get any less false.

"Here. You'll be needing one of these, then. You need something on you even you don't wind up using it for self-defence."