"I—" Marron stopped. The wariness in Petra's face was real and justified. She was a stranger inside Petra's restaurant, asking to handle her blade. If the roles were reversed,
She was a woman alone in her restaurant with a stranger asking to handle a blade. Of course she was suspicious.
"I'm not trying to buy it," Marron said carefully. "Or trick you. Or—" She took a breath. This was dangerous territory. "I'm trying to understand it. That's all."
"Understand it?" Petra's hand was definitely on the knife handle now. "It's a knife. You use it to cut things. What's there to understand?"
"Have you ever noticed," Marron said slowly, "that when you use it, your cuts are always perfect? That you can sense exactly where to cut, how deep, what angle?"
Petra went very still. The kitchen was silent except for the bubbling stock and the distant street sounds.
"How would you know that?" Petra's voice was soft, dangerous.
