“Take off that helmet,” he ordered, his voice a whisper. Handy paused for a moment before complying. His eyes projected a soft, almost golden glow, the minute movements causing blurred light trails just a hair’s breadth above their surface. Goldtooth did not flinch, waiting for Handy to blink first. He almost didn’t want to, but the burning, almost volcanic activity that was Goldtooth’s emotions, and the panicked, turbulent ball of worry and fear that was Ivorybeak beside him, he reconsidered.