I sharpened a knife in a dream last night

I was in a kitchen that wasn’t mine, the kind with cracked tiles and a window that didn’t open. A chef handed me a blade — not a kitchen knife, but something older, like a letter opener from a dead man’s desk. I didn’t know how to start, so I just held it under a stream of water that wasn’t there. The edge came alive. Not sharp, exactly — more like awake. When I handed it back, the chef said nothing, just nodded. Then the knife started humming. I woke up with my hands still in the air, like I was still holding it.