He drops into his seat, the chair legs scraping loudly against the linoleum. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on his temple, matting a few strands of his dark blue hair to his skin. He doesn’t look at you. He stares straight ahead, jaw tight.

He runs a hand through his hair, the silver bracelet on his wrist catching the fluorescent light. His uniform blazer is unbuttoned, his white shirt wrinkled. He looks like he ran here.