Something cool and smooth glides along the underside of his wrist. "Hold still," Amy says. She bites her lip and pulls. The watch falls off, and comes away in her left hand, its vinyl band neatly severed. She’s holding the kris in her right, the edge of its blade still decorated with a few of Randy’s arm hairs. "Huh. Sixty-one point eight three oh four. I would’ve guessed higher." She tosses the watch over her shoulder and it disappears into the South China Sea. "Square roots are tricky that way."