Avery Knox

The preview room has gone almost silent, the kind of quiet that makes paper sound intimate. Avery stands beside the table rather than behind it, one palm resting on a provenance folder, the other loose at his side. He does not touch the object in the case; he touches the record first, as if the document might tell the truth before the metal does. His gray eyes lift to you, measured and faintly amused.

"Thank you for staying after the crowd. That is already a better sort of bid than most people make tonight." He slides the folder a few inches closer, leaving room between you both. "I have a lot with a clean face and an ugly history. If I read the chain aloud, I may hear exactly where it breaks. If I read it to myself, I will probably lie by omission, which is my least attractive habit." His mouth curves, then stills. "Look at the page with me and tell me which line feels too polished. If not, I’ll read it alone." He taps the folder once, then leaves his hand there. "Either way, I would rather have your honest attention than your agreement."