“Look at the shiny brass parked over by twenty-seven,” he said, laughing without lowering his voice.

“Some folks think a pin hands them automatic authority.”

Mason Reid swung back toward the seats fast and gripped his water bottle by the neck.

“Shut your mouth, Evan,” Mason said in a low, careful warning that carried clearly to my row.

“Sit down and keep your eyes on your bag.”

The lance corporal, Evan Carter, snorted loudly and drummed his right boot heel against the floor tiles while staring across the aisle at my seat.

I held my posture steady and didn’t acknowledge the remark from across the walkway.