Sam was standing with the Librarian over by the windows overlooking the air shaft when the door to the seminar room opened and the rest of the group returned. He’d cracked the window to give the Librarian some air. Talked him down from his heightened state. Assured him it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.
Even if that wasn’t strictly true.
Because if Sam was honest with himself, the scissors bothered him.
It had been a close call.
He knew that strictly speaking he should have ordered everyone out and asked them to contact security the moment the situation developed.
Which was probably something the others had discussed among themselves, judging by how they’d fallen into an immediate and awkward hush as they’d shuffled back inside, all of them looking a little shady, a little self-conscious, the Athlete and the Artist seeming to bump against each other because they were standing so close.
‘I’m really sorry,’ the Librarian said, shamefaced. ‘I don’t know what came over me before.’
He squinted at them, toed the floor, glanced towards Sam for reassurance. Sam nodded his understanding, clenching the Librarian’s upper arm.
Several long seconds passed before the Boxer grunted an acknowledgement, not giving much away.
The Lost Girl tapped a nail against the can of Diet Coke she was holding.
The Artist looked up at the Athlete, who was holding the door open behind her with his big arm extended above her head.
‘Actually, I think we all understand a bit of what you’re going through,’ the Athlete said. ‘Here.’
And he paced across the room to offer the Librarian a bottle of chilled water, clapping him on his other arm when he took it, the Librarian gazing up at him with an expression of gratitude and relief.
‘The way I see it, we all came here today for help, right?’ the Athlete said, looking around the group. ‘We all have our bad moments. So . . .’ He shrugged at Sam. ‘What’s next? Do you want us to all sit back down?’