The silence pressed in, thick enough to taste.
I looked up, from one face to another—their expensive suits, their shifting eyes. The faint smell of coffee and cowardice. My vision pulsed at the edges again, darkening. I pushed through it.
I let the silence stretch, just long enough for discomfort to turn into panic.
"You were discussing my...tenure, I presume?" I continued, my eyes scanning the room with a calculated intensity.
At the far end, Langston adjusted his cufflinks with exaggerated calm, his lips twitching into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. Beside him, Marla Chen's fingers danced nervously along the rim of her coffee cup, the only sound in the room besides my labored breathing. Across the table, Patel's gaze met mine for a heartbeat—then dropped, his hand retreating from the stack of papers I'm sure he'd been about to present.
