It was no longer laughing with them. It was waiting.
“You think that sounds impressive?” Miller asked, though his voice had lost a fraction of its polish.
“No,” George said. “I think it sounds old.”
That should have ended it, or softened it, or given Miller an exit that cost him almost nothing.
But pride rarely recognizes a door when it is standing in front of one.
Miller reached down and gripped the back of George’s chair, not the man himself, but close enough to make meaning clear.
Davis saw it from the kitchen window and felt his stomach fold inward.
He wanted Master Chief Thorne to appear immediately, like men did in the stories his grandfather used to tell.
But real hallways were long, real buildings had corners, and courage had to exist before help arrived.
George felt the chair shift half an inch under Miller’s hand.
