Marin paused, pen halfway to the margin of his notes. His eyes flicked up, narrowing with the speed of a man used to dealing with lunatics in high positions.
"You what?"
Gabriel, who had already begun buttoning Damian's coat for him with slow, elegant efficiency, didn't even look up. "He means the one forged with dormant sigils and an ego problem."
"The ceremonial sword forged to amplify resonance during public rituals?" Marin asked, voice carefully level—but the rise in his brow betrayed his incredulity. "The one that reacts to emotional flux like a weather vane in a thunderstorm?"
"The very one," Gabriel said dryly, finally glancing at him. "He keeps it hidden in his study; it was collecting dust until now."
Marin nodded once, restrained but curious. "I would be interested in examining it. Purely for medical documentation."
