“Thanks.”
She shifts her weight, hesitance clear in her posture.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” she admits, a crack in her composed facade.
“But here we are,” I reply, not unkindly.
Her presence is a tangible thing, reshaping the space between us.
The papers she holds are a silent threat, a reminder of the precariousness of my situation.
“We need to talk,” she says, and I nod again, bracing myself.
“I know,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
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