To say that Piotr is angry is a gross understatement. He radiates it like a vicious sun, barely contained in his skin. He's bent over his desk on his feet, hands braced hard on its surface as he stares down at his work, his life's work, in more than one way. His eyes barely flicker up to the sword before going back to the desk. His voice comes out low and rough, a barely contained snarl.

"Not now, Rani."