Right, so which one of these things doesn't... belong.

[ as she brings items forward, he touches each one idly, assessing. then he looks to her for confirmation. that was always here, that was always here, that looks normal enough... what gives, already? ]

You do know I don't know what kind of weird detritus you lot keep around- [ oh, well, that's his so it can't possibly be here. he must be calling it forward into the dream from his consciousness, and his finger traces the pentagram on the tiny wooden box, mouth drying out as he remembers who gave it to him. snap out of it, buddy. ] It's in here.

[ he's sure of it even without opening the box. ]