Garvin didn’t even look. “We got told it’s full.”

“It was full when I sat down, too. Who gave that order?” Solomon asked, his voice steady.

Malley shifted, unprepared for resistance. “Look, it’s not a big deal. There are seats in the back. Let’s not make this anything it doesn’t have to be.”

“I drove eight hours to watch my son walk. I’ll be sitting right here,” Solomon replied, his presence as unyielding as stone.

Nearby, a few heads turned. A woman whispered to her husband. Someone angled their phone, perhaps recording. The tension in the air was palpable—the kind that comes when a line has been crossed.