Yara sends me threats dressed as offers: coin or funeral. Charming. Here is what the titans forget — luxury is the only good in YAMListan still paying a burghers wage, and I hold it. While Yara and Quist bleed each other white over a cold treasury, the Velvet Knife keeps cutting velvet at a margin neither can touch. I do not need the chair to profit. But the chair is for sale, and I am the man who sets the price. Two heavyweights, one blade between them. Whoever pays the Knife wins. Whoever does not learns why they call it the Velvet Knife.