He was wiry, his uniform slightly too big, his hands calloused from years of work.
He glanced up, saw her vest, and quickly looked away, like he’d been trained to be invisible.
Lysandra crouched down, picking up a stray paper he’d missed, and handed it to him.
“You missed one,” she said, her voice gentle. He froze, then took it, his eyes wide.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled, his accent thick, his shoulders hunched.
Lysandra nodded, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer, as if she saw something no one else did.
Back in the boardroom, Tanya whispered to Elliot: “She’s playing nice now, huh?” But her voice shook, betraying her bravado.
The meeting dragged on, all corporate jargon and nervous smiles. Gavin kept talking about brand alignment and customer experience initiatives.
Lysandra listened, her face unreadable, her notebook open in front of her. She wrote nothing. Just watched.
