Braze made it to his destination without incident, descending through multiple levels of restricted access until he reached the containment chambers. He found a secure, empty room and stepped inside, the box still held steady in his grasp. He set it down gently, then paused, eyes transfixed on it.
Boxes had taught him many things over the years... This one felt like it held lessons too, though they waited behind silence.
Without rushing, he began preparing the space. A sterile field. Holorecorders. Documentation logs. He calibrated the sensors, double-checked shielding, and followed forensic procedure to the letter. Nothing in the Force indicated a mechanical trap or explosive hidden inside. But that meant little. Shadows often wore soft skins.
Sculpting had once been one of his more secretive pastimes, form, tension, the pull of weight in clay. He understood shape in a way that most didn’t. He could almost see what waited beneath the inner foil, even now. But instinct had to give way to protocol. The box had to be preserved, for others, for the Council, and for the truth.
Once the room was ready, Braze stepped back and moved to the door, giving himself space and a bit of distance.
This had moved beyond Temple security. Now it was High Council territory.
With calm precision, he removed one of his gloves.
Then the second, a barely-there film of soft lightwoven material that often went unnoticed. Skin-to-skin contact could be... overwhelming.
He flexed his fingers once, then approached as he studied the box again, gaze tracing it for the most neutral point of contact. Something decidedly non-invasive.
The room felt colder now, or maybe that was just his awareness heightening as his senses narrowed to a point.
Braze reached out just to the outer corner of the box and pressed a finger pad against the spot to try and allow
psychometry to show him something more.
