Luneshale Pass Doors opened

The boy, although just a child, was still an unknown creature with sharp teeth and a powerful jaw. The man, beneath the veneer of nonchalant care and politeness, coiled tighter than a spring, heart quickening as the stranger leaned near him. His anticipation hung thick in the air, awaiting the sweet eyes to turn bitter, for the endearing nervousness to turn to hostility, and the imminent spill of blood.
It did not come.

So as the syrupy gaze flicked to Machiavelli's own, he casually averted his head, redirecting his attention to the wonders of the celestial bodies above. It was a subtle agreement, a small gesture of trust—the very foundation upon which societal bonds are built: if no teeth bare down upon my throat, none shall be bared upon yours.