"You don't pretend," she agreed, "At least, not to me you don't. But it matters, Kanan. New Years, you ordered a fucking drink."

Which she'd stolen. Which she still hated Tino for, for serving it to him. Kanan practically lived there on Tuesdays, he had to have known he was dry and he didn't so much as fucking ask before he served the whiskey. Yeah, it was a bar and it was their job to serve alcohol but when someone is teetering on the back of a wagon you don't put a hand between their shoulders and push. She could carry hate a real long way for far less reason. This wasn't a little reason and it had just become a whole lot less little.