Crom eyed the woman with distrust. He remembered something he'd heard once: there's no such thing as a free ride. They had taken the bait hook line and sinker. Crom looked at his wounded shoulder, still clutching tightly at the the injury to prevent more blood loss. Under ordinary circumstances, he would've rejected any involvement with the woman. The situation was questionable at best, and despite his position as a mercenary, he preferred to avoid particularly shady clients. Still, without aid, the soldier was in a bad spot. There was a high likelihood that he would bleed out, and he had a strong feeling refusing the offer would put them in a worse position than they were already in. The mercenary rested a hand on the hilt of his weapon and locked eyes with the woman. "Just what kind of work are you asking for?" He looked around at the boxes in the cart. "And what cargo are we transporting?" Crom had a feeling the woman's dealings were of questionable legality. The combination of their current predicament and the intense pain washing over his body had nearly completely sobered him up, and his voice was no longer warm, but flat and frank. The way the woman had said 'walk free' concerned him. He narrowed his eyes, peering at the face beneath the hood. His aching fingers wrapped around the hilt of his weapon. "And what exactly happens if we refuse?"