You are the one who wants violence, Gellert. When have I ever laid hands on any friends of yours? How many of mine have died so far?

[He is tired, so tired, but it all comes back to the same things -- the war, the bad blood between them, the things they do not say even as they grow so very obvious between them.]

Nothing, I imagine. Nothing except whatever Credence decides, whatever you can't convince him away from.