[ Like a sense of self, she deems the item ultimately pointless. If he should require restraints, they will be provided at the end of her knife, a quick end for an even shorter career under her tutelage.

Her first instinct is to tell him to leave it here--it is, after all, neither sentimental nor practical in his new leave as her subordinate.

But keen as she is to rid him of his pointless layers, she's equally mindful that an unnecessarily heavy hand can snap a perfectly viable tool.

Not all attachments need be discarded. Perhaps some measure of twisted humanity will make his edges sharper, his aim truer.

And perhaps he will remember his place all the better for having that quiet, clearly unsettling reminder in his possession. ]

Should I find myself in need of restraining you, I have many other methods at my disposal.

[ Not, for all that the words purr coldly, a threat. Merely an objectively, calmly provided fact. Dusting her hands off on her uniform as if she's touched something particularly distasteful, she straightens her spine, turning away from the broken treasure trove. ]

But bring it, for all I care. Even mutts need their toys. Is this all of it?