"Fuck you," the guy spits out and Sweeney doesn't care who the words are aimed at, he just takes them as an invitation to deliver a nice, hard punch, his knuckles colliding with the man's nose. There's a spurt of warm blood against his fist, the feeling of sacrifice, and heat blooms through him. It isn't the same as an offering made to him, but it's good.

Good enough.

"It's worth it, love," he says to Tris. The blood on his knuckles is bright red and he holds it up for a moment, then flexes his hand. "Have a go. He's a prick, but there's glory t'be had in the fight, even with as limp a dick as this one."