Florian's stomach twisted as his gaze locked onto Cashew's face. The quiet intensity that usually defined him had vanished, stripped away and replaced with something raw—something dark.
His lips, usually soft with silent obedience, were pressed into a thin, bloodless line. His small hands, delicate but firm, trembled as they curled into fists at his sides.
A flicker of unease crawled down Florian's spine, cold and insistent.
'What is that look…?'
Cashew had never looked at anyone like that before. Not with such deep-seated anger, not with a loathing so sharp it seemed to carve itself into his usually gentle features. And worse—Florian had no idea why.
'This again… Why does he hate Heinz so much?'
But this wasn't the time.
