He pulled another claw, handled it carefully this time, respecting how easily it could betray him, and slid it along the contours of his own tracksuit after spreading it as much as possible to get the most accurate size.
The claw dug with relative and frightening ease through the leather.
It wasn't like cutting cloth. There was a slight resistance at first, the leather pushing back, then the tip biting in and following through. The sound was quiet but ugly, like tearing thick paper, but wetter. Kael kept his hand steady, jaw clenched, moving slowly along the neck, then the shoulders from both sides.
He had to cut a bit more on the side of the ribs, adjusting where the tracksuit hugged his torso too tightly. He imagined wearing the jacket and moving, raising his arms, twisting in combat. If it was tight at the ribs, it would bind and slow him at the worst possible time.
For now, he had a piece that was perfectly aligned with the back of his tracksuit.
