Your own room is an island of relative calm. The late afternoon sun slants through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing above your half-packed suitcase on the floor. The camera on your desk blinks a steady red light. A stack of folded t-shirts waits beside a tangled charger cord.

He pans the camera slowly across your room, catching the quiet concentration on your face, then swings it back toward the noisy hallway with a shake of his head.