“If there’s an issue with my identification,” she said, her voice steady, “you can verify it through your system.”
Linda’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“I know how to do my job,” she snapped, though her actions suggested otherwise.
What happened next unfolded so quickly that for a moment, nobody quite processed it.
Linda gripped the passport more tightly, her fingers curling around the edges, and with a sudden, sharp motion, she tore it in half.
The sound was soft, almost insignificant, but it cut through the space like a crack in glass.
Silence followed.
It wasn’t immediate, but it spread, rippling outward as people turned, as conversations faltered, as the reality of what had just happened began to settle in. The two halves of the passport lay on the counter, the tear clean and irreversible, the emblem of a nation split down the middle by an act that was as impulsive as it was reckless.
Linda straightened, her expression defiant, as though daring anyone to challenge her.
Naomi didn’t react right away. She looked down at the passport, at the clean edge of the tear, at the fragments of something that was more than just paper. And then, slowly, she lifted her gaze.
