He doesn't hesitate, raising a hand, fingers drawing together as if curling around an invisible thread--or, in this case, an invisible splinter. Then, he snaps his hand back, pulling on the little pieces of wood still in her, drawing them out, telekinetically. They hesitate in the air for a moment, no more than a handful of needle-thin slivers, and then he drops his hand back to his lap, shards falling to the ground between them.

And all that said and done, he resumes watching her, eyes still hard. "That's all of them." It's more a question than it should be, but he's fairly certain.