When Aunamee turned into the bathroom, he let himself run into Baron. His hand curled out in front of him like a claw, automatically gripping at the fabric of the other man's shirt to catch himself.

( -- to wave the unwaveable. To break the unbreakable.)

He released him and stepped backward. Once. Twice. He was the picture of composure.

"My opera friend."

He watched him with sharp, grey eyes.