If Richard’s clocked anything strange in the specifics, there’s no tell-tale tick-tock of recognition in his eyes. But his silence is distinctly that of someone who’s watching her word count rise without having asked a question.

“I’ve never spoken to her,” sounds a lot like him tipping the implication that he thinks much of accountability to local leadership off the end of his lunch tray. Not quite reassurance.

He says nothing on the subject of broader obligation. Instead, he follows her nod to examine the sliver of lurid green light lodged in his palm. His fingers can only curl halfway to stifling the glow entirely.

“There are people here that I would like to see happy.” Or at the very least, not ground beneath the heel of a vulture-core megalomaniac.