He flinches in slow-motion, brows bunched in over the harder carve of his frown. The crease he manages in her map is very fine, careful down the midline and then over once more only for him to push it thickly away behind his lapel, where it is bound to rumple in some unseen pocket.

He doesn’t say that he does not wish to be included. He doesn’t say anything else either, watching papers being vacuumed up off the floor into the orbit of her bustle.