Barclay had barely turned his back when Don stepped forward.
No theatrics. Just motion—until he was level with Charles, shoulder to shoulder. His voice came low, but loud enough to carry across the open camp.
"How long until your people arrive?" he asked. "They'll need to inspect the androids before they go down there."
The question cut through the scene like a snapped wire. Even Charles tilted his head slightly in confusion—not enough to look surprised, but just enough for Don to catch it.
He recovered fast, of course. Smoothed it over like it was all part of the plan.
"Soon," Charles said.
But across from them, Barclay froze mid-step.
He didn't ease to a stop. He didn't glance back with smug disinterest.
He halted. Hard. Like the ground had buckled under him.
Then he turned.
His voice was controlled, but his face gave it away—too pale, too fast.
