Barclay's frown deepened. A dark line cut across his face as Charles's words lingered in the air like smoke that refused to fade.
Charles, by contrast, remained composed—his smile subtle, unreadable. It wasn't smug. It was relaxed. Measured. The kind of smile you wore when you'd already counted every reaction ten steps ahead.
Eyes all around the chamber turned toward Barclay.
Waiting.
But he didn't get the chance to speak.
Director Graham's voice cut clean through the room.
"That won't be necessary, Charles," he said firmly.
The weight of the statement was immediate. A quiet shift in posture, glances exchanged across the rows. The Director hadn't raised his voice—but no one doubted who was in charge.
Graham turned his head slightly, giving Barclay a side glance that felt more like a slap.
"Some of us," he continued, "seem to be a bit too emotional right now." The jab landed hard.
