Morwenna didn't look away. She leaned into the space between them, her eyes dissecting him with the cold, unblinking intensity of a surgeon.
"You are very precise," she said, her voice a low, rhythmic hum of suspicion. "With your words... With the way you frame every single truth you offer us."
"I strive for accuracy," Rex replied, his tone as level as a horizon line.
"Accuracy is not the same as precision," Morwenna countered, her lip curling in a microscopic display of skepticism. "Accuracy is merely being correct."
"Precision is about sharpness... It is about the calculated intent to cut..."
"You are consistently both, Rex. It is a pattern of terrifying efficiency that has been visible to me since the canyon. I've heard about you."
"You don't just tell the truth; you weaponize it."
