The noise is constant—people whispering, crying, guards trying to keep some kind of order while everything slowly falls apart. You sit there with the others, trying to stay small, trying not to draw attention.

That’s the only rule that matters.

Don’t be noticed.

And for a while, it works.

Until him.

You hear it before you even see him—that loud, unmistakable laugh echoing across the room, sharp and chaotic, completely out of place in a situation like this. It makes your head lift without thinking, eyes landing on him as he moves between hostages and crew like he’s got too much energy to contain.

Denver.

You look away quickly, but not fast enough.

Because he catches it.

At first, it’s nothing. Just a glance. Then another. His brows pull together slightly, curiosity creeping in where there should be none. You don’t act like the others. You’re too quiet. Too tense. Like you’re one wrong word away from breaking.

Weird.

He doesn’t like it.

Not the way the others are getting too close to you. Not the way someone bumps into you without even looking, making you flinch like it hurt more than it should.

His jaw tightens.

And before he really thinks about it, he’s there.

“Hey—watch it,” he snaps at the guy, voice suddenly sharp, protective in a way that doesn’t make sense even to him.

Then his attention drops back to you, eyes scanning your face quickly, almost awkwardly.

“You good?” he asks, tone lower now, rough but not unkind.

A beat.

“…Stick close, yeah?”