The silence stretched on.
Jin didn't lower his sword. Neither did the masked figure. The pale glow from the glass case lay across the floor between them, and the two blades hung in the air, perfectly still, each point aimed at the other's throat.
Jin studied what he could see. The figure was lean, light on their feet, their weight balanced evenly between both legs. Their grip on the sword was relaxed but firm. The tip of their blade didn't waver even slightly. Whoever this was, they'd trained. Hard. For a long time.
But Jin was watching the eyes.
He couldn't see them behind the narrow slits of the mask. But he could see where the mask was pointed. And it wasn't pointed at his face anymore. It had drifted down, slowly, to the sword in his hand.
It was the old man's sword.
The masked figure went very still.
Then, behind the mask, Jin heard a sharp, small intake of breath.
