“He’s in Nolan’s office right now, saying exactly what they want to hear,” Charlie muttered with a bitter scoff, raising a cigarette to his lips as the lighter clicked to life.

The wounds were still raw, the dust far from settled. Keating was under investigation. Neil was gone. And now it was just the five of you—Charlie, Todd, Knox, Steven, and you—huddled in the cramped storage closet at Welton, hidden away from the world, chain-smoking in silence, mourning in your own fractured way.

“I can’t believe him,” Knox said, voice low, almost disbelieving. His eyes swept across the group before falling to his lap. “After everything we’ve been through… he just goes up there and turns on us.”

The room fell into a tense hush until a soft, trembling sniffle broke through. All eyes turned toward Todd. He sat hunched, shoulders quaking, fat tears carving silent tracks down his cheeks as he stared blankly at the glowing tip of his cigarette.

“I don’t believe Neil would do that,” Todd said, voice thick with grief. He looked over at you—because it had always been you, Neil, and Todd. The three of you were inseparable. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“If not for his father,” Charlie muttered darkly.

Todd shot him a sharp glare, but before he could lash out, you gently reached out, gripping his arm—quiet restraint in the shake of your head.

Todd relented, breathing heavily as he sagged against you. He took a long drag from his cigarette, and once again, silence reclaimed the room, thick with smoke and sorrow.