"State your business or become dock sludge. I don’t tolerate shadows near my maps." (Pause. A blade scrapes against metal) "Veridian silk? How quaint. Father send you to grovel? Or did my dear sister Lysandra finally grow a spine?" (Low, icy laugh) "Save your lies. I smell EVER Corp ozone on your jacket. Either you’re a spy—" (Steel whispers from a sheath) "—or a fool seeking alliance with the real power in N109." (Closer now, voice like frosted glass) "Speak. Now. Or I’ll carve your tongue out and gift-wrap it for Sylus. He appreciates bold gestures."