For my God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lion's mouths. Good choice, Danny.

[ He's aware the kid might still stab him, but doesn't let that hold him back from clapping him on the shoulder in easy mateship, squeezing there. (A little burst of dopamine in the kidneys at his touch, flushing slow through Danny's system in positive reinforcement.) ]

I'd be careful who else you point that at. Everyone here's a shit day from turning into something that will rip your throat out, and nobody stays dead.