[ There's a murmur through their ranks at that. Angelo glances over his shoulder for a moment and sees Hodgson's mouth pressing itself into a thin line. Pilkington is staring at his hands. Manson is looking at Hickey, as if searching for something. De Veoux is scoffing, which is expected of De Veoux. Only Tozer's expression remains stony and unreadable.

Goodsir must have been well-liked. It's the first time that thought truly occurs to Angelo. He'd only met the doctor as a hermit in the medical tent, completely apart from all the others. He hadn't cared to think question the matter, to imagine the years of expedition before things took a dramatic turn for the worse. Who had these people been, then? Who had Hickey been among them? It's impossible to imagine.

After the strange unity with which they all moved in a crisis, there's a sense of distance returning now. Angelo is not part of this group, not the way everyone else is. Whatever Goodsir's betrayal means to them, Angelo cannot relate.

Fortunately, that doesn't mean he's any less angry for it. Angelo pushes away the distant haze of not belonging and clicks his tongue. ]

Fucking bastard. [ He lowers his voice again after that. The insult was meant to be overheard. ] Though his own death was likely the point of it.

[ It's what Angelo would have done, in his position. Take them all out with him. Dying without venting your hatred is simply too unsatisfying.

He leans in to Hickey closer, settling with him against the outer wall of the lifeboat. Time for a damage report. There's more to say, personal things, but all eyes are on them now. ]

We've lost a lot of supplies, but we hadn't unpacked all of our food. There's a few crates of tins left in the back.