"I never said I knew their identities," Brigid replied casually—right as she started pulling items out of her space ring.
Cassian's brain stalled.
A cleaver.
A bone saw.
A skinner's hook.
Something that looked suspiciously like it belonged in a torture museum.
He completely missed her words at first, too busy staring at the pile she was assembling like she was preparing a joyful little arts-and-crafts session.
It took him a full three seconds to recover. "Hold on—wait. You don't know who the spies are?" he asked, the realization finally catching up.
Meanwhile, his shock only grew.Because looking at the way she handled those blades—with way too much affection—Cassian had a sudden, hollowed-out thought:
'Yep. This maniac is definitely worthy of being artistic butcher's grand disciple.'
Brigid lifted one of the saws, inspecting the teeth with almost tender affection.
