Clara
The room is spacious, elegant and too quiet.
Everything here seems designed to impose. The dark wood table, perfectly polished. The chairs aligned with precision. The tall windows let in cold, almost distant light.
And in the midst of all that... There is me. Sitting in front of Mr. Bustamante, I feel his gaze from the first second.
It is not an open look, it is not aggressive. But he's not kind either.
It is... measure and evaluator. Like he's calculating how much I'm worth after what happened last night.
I keep my back straight, my hands on the table. The calm face, although inside... I know exactly what's going on.
I feel it, I can feel that little change in the environment. That detail that no one mentions directly... but that is there. Present and weighing.
Alexander is
