Slowly the classes started to pass by, as the bell for the lunch break rang—papers started to shuffle, lectures ended, the whole classroom got filled with the chatter of the students.
Arthur stood up and started walking towards the door, Ryan didn't follow by this time—he walked together with Arthur.
They slowly made their way to room no 212 together. The corridor smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and hot metal from the vending machines. When they pushed the door in, the small classroom felt different — charged, like something waiting for orders.
Maya was already there, she stood in the middle of the room, there was a whiteboard beside her as she held a marker in her hand.
She had a serious look on her face, the look which people have when they do something important. On the board she'd drawn a rough map: the crew's hideout sketched out in blocky rectangles, alleyways marked, a few notes in the corners.
