He doesn't look at the knife even as the sound of it rings loud in the bar, his eyes are locked with Sharky's. Well with what should be Sharky.

Jacob is still around, off to the side, and somewhere in the back of his mind Pratt is wondering why. This is what Jacob wants, for Pratt to go nuts and kill his friends, he should be proud. Instead of standing there watching them as if this is a training session and he's going to take notes to bring up to Pratt later about every wrong footstep, every twitch of a finger that gave him away before he strikes.

But for now he can be ignored.

"Yeah. But I'd like to hear it from you. Just between friends." The word ground out with so much venom they're going to need a doctor in here with an antidote.