The dagger trembled at an impossibly high frequency, and as it did, the crimson stain that had coated its surface began receding like a tide pulling away from shore. The bloodred hue drained from the blade in seconds, peeling back from tip to hilt until not a trace of color remained.
Quinn Thorne's right hand could no longer maintain its grip. The dagger wrenched itself free from his fingers and hung suspended in the air before him, hovering at chest height as though held aloft by an invisible thread. With all the blood completely gone, the weapon looked like nothing more than a dagger-shaped piece of perfectly clear glass, translucent and weightless, catching the dim light of the room in ways that defied physics.
He kept his eyes locked on it, watching and waiting.
The arcane runes etc
