[Val is by now done with picking up the shards of porcelain, and has stowed them in one of the pouches he keeps at his belt for such occasions. Or similar occasions, at least. Heading for the door when she reappears, he pats her casually on the arm as he strolls past, back at ease.]

I do.

[And--]

Where and what are these details? And this workshop of yours? You cannot possibly expect me to call that room a library. Where are the books?