Barit didn't reach for the tray this time.
He just stood there, breathing even, staring at me like I was a problem he hadn't solved, only recognized.
Then he turned to the assistant.
"Bring it."
No gesture. No explanation.
The older man moved without hesitation to the black case by the wall. One click. One cloth-wrapped object. He handed it to Barit like this had all been done before.
Barit unwrapped the blade with slow, precise hands. Not reverent, procedural.
Inside was a dagger. Needle-thin. No grip. No crossguard. Forged from an alloy that shimmered between metallic hues like it hadn't decided what kind of metal it wanted to be. It looked weightless. It looked wrong.
He held it up to the light, then let his gaze fall back to me.
"I normally never use this for subviction," he said. Calm. Clinical. "It breaks everyone."
A pause.
"But I can tell — orthodox methods won't work for you."
