They all looked at him together, the same small, sober nod from each face. It was not loud or flashy. It was quiet and heavy, like the kind of nod you give when you promise to be somewhere for someone no matter what. Ryan felt it in his chest more than he saw it. For a second his throat closed, not from fear but from something like belonging.
"You all did nice, guys," he said, voice low and honest. "Thanks for the help."
Maya blinked as if he had chosen the wrong word by mistake. "Help? How is it help when we are fighting for our own crew?" she asked. She sounded more confused than annoyed, like he had missed a fact right in front of him. To her, it was not help. It was duty.
