That was the true tool. Not the obsidian. Not the revealed identity. But the act of looking.
The boy stared. "What does it do?"
He never saw the tool again. The boy walked out with the music box still broken—and the obsidian piece warm in his pocket. Elias didn't mind. He had learned, finally, that the I key tool was never meant to be kept. It was meant to be passed on. i key tool