They stepped into the small meeting room as if entering a test. The space was bare and sharp. Concrete walls, a single high window that let in a thin stripe of cold light, and a concrete floor that smelled faintly of sawdust and old paint.
In the center of the room four desks were arranged to face each other like a square. Each desk had a nameplate. One said "West High Crew." One said "East High Crew." One said "North High Crew." The fourth nameplate sat empty on its desk like a silent question.
Ryan felt a tight little knot in his stomach when the door closed behind them. It was the kind of knot that comes from knowing this moment matters. He was nervous, yes, but not helpless. He had trained in the night, he had failed and tried again, and he carried a small steady confidence now.
