he was in control was Ror.
He gave one last push, then let go, stepping aside with a smirk. He expected her to flinch, retreat, crumble. She didn’t. Her folder stayed neat, her pen exactly where it was. His behavior wasn’t a slip. It was habit. A tap on the shoulder here, a joke elbow there, a stare held just too long. All shielded later by phrases continue reading …
