The Shadow Behind the Throne
Hardness crept into Gary's stare, while his mouth twisted - close to a grin, yet not quite. Still, it wasn't anger either.
The walls of the tent pressed closer, fabric rising and falling as if it were alive. Light from the lantern trembled above, held by a metal loop, while flickering shapes danced across eyes worn thin from waiting.
Stillness came, heavy. Gary let one hand lie where the table ended. A single tap sounded - then nothing. Breath held. That quiet pulled tight across the room. Each man sensed it: rage curled low behind still eyes, sharp as steel wrapped in wool.
A hush held everyone still. Outside, the breeze seemed to pause too.
He spoke soft, eyes steady. A pause stretched out, thin and tight. The silence did its work. Then: "not someone you'd expect… me."
