Outside, the mess hall had not exploded into action. That somehow made it worse.
Everyone was still pretending the room was normal, while every face had tilted slightly toward the old man’s table.
Miller had bent closer, close enough that George could smell the coffee on his breath and the salt on his skin.
“I said get up,” Miller told him, each word clipped with the confidence of someone accustomed to obedience.
George looked down at the hand pointing toward his shoulder, then slowly lifted his eyes to Miller’s face.
