At least, that was the closest word Mira could find. The object was the size of a human forearm, shaped like a calligraphy brush but made of interlocking bone-white ceramic scales. Each scale was etched with a single character: Shoetsu Otomo Reona 44l . The name repeated, over and over, in a spiral toward the brush’s tip.
“No,” Mira admitted. “But I’m the one who found you. And I’m not letting you sing alone in the dark anymore.” Shoetsu Otomo Reona 44l
Mira flinched. “Who?”