Their voices overlapped, accompanied by their agitated faces.
Ronan remained seated for a moment longer, not because he thought he could defy them, but because standing up felt like crossing a line he had never needed to cross before. The corridor lights flickered above their heads, casting uneven shadows on the stained walls, and for the first time, he noticed how tired everyone looked. No one cared about his surname anymore. They cared about who would stand at the front if something came through the stairwell.
Clark clicked his tongue impatiently. "Move."
Ronan rose slowly, brushing his palm against his trousers as if that small gesture could restore some order to his dignity. He met Clark's eyes briefly and then looked away. There was no point arguing further. Every word he spoke would only add fuel to the resentment simmering in the room.
