He's not surprised that Jesper actually relaxes against the snap in his direction– this is par for the course for them; if Kaz has the capacity to snap at someone, he's fine enough not to need any sort of help to come through the other side. His eyes snap over to the sharpshooter and he frowns, but it's a curious thing more than annoyed or angry. Jesper has always had a nearly blind sort of faith in him, in ways Kaz isn't sure he's actually deserving of, but that he somehow extends that to this, too? It almost lifts him up just to hear it stated so plainly.

Growing up in the slums of the Barrel of Ketterdam says Noah's thought is wrong. A lie on the tongue of a fox prepared to strike when least expected. But. Noah didn't grow up there. He has not yet betrayed him. Kaz has no reason not to believe him, except that he can't allow himself to– he can't see it as anything except weakness. Something to be discovered. Exploited. Like Hell has already done once, now. Could so easily do again. All it takes is being forced into a plain t-shirt, his gloves being stolen from him, and the slight brush of someone's hand against his arm in what's probably arbitrary, random, unthinking from another person.

But that part about clawing his way out? That resonates a chord long driven deep into the core of him. It's what he's done since he was a kid, in one way or another. Even though he really doesn't know what to say to that, a sense of understanding still passes across his features. Noah will get it, he always does, even when Kaz can't put words to things.

"I know the feeling," he says, arching his eyebrows at him. Et tu, Noah?