At the feint, instinct took over once more. He grabbed the arm, yanking it aside, turning, and making a quick, sharp motion with his left hand. Not a punch. It didn't connect like a punch. It was to the side of Jacob's neck, fingers curled as if to hit, but stopping to touch and--

And he was missing a finger.

In the span of less than a heartbeat, more than one realisation struck. One was that his acquaintance had done it to try to spark memories. And another was that it seemed they had more in common than he'd thought, because...

He let go, not even breathing hard. As if this was something that happened every day. And voice feeling distant, even to him, he said, "I remember hoods. Many-- Many, white hoods and thick leather armour..." He motioned around his own waist. But as quickly as detail came, it was gone. Or-- not gone, but... just out of reach.