Evelyn steadied her tray, her grip tightening just enough to stop the movement. When she spoke, her voice was even, not raised, not defensive.
“The sign says service runs until thirteen hundred,” she replied. “I’m within the posted hours.”
Reeves let out a short laugh, the kind that wasn’t really about humor. “Yeah?” he said. “You one of those who think rules bend because you show up in workout gear and act like you belong here?”
There was something performative about it now, like he’d found an audience and didn’t intend to waste it. He stepped closer, closing the space between them in a way that felt less like conversation and more like pressure.
“This isn’t a gym café,” he added. “And it’s not a place for people who don’t understand how things work.”
Evelyn met his gaze, her expression unchanged. If anything, she seemed to settle further into herself, like a person lowering their center of gravity before a storm.
“Respect,” she said quietly, “doesn’t come from volume, Sergeant. You might want to remember that.”
It was a measured statement, but it struck harder than anything louder might have. Reeves’s jaw tightened, the shift immediate and visible.
“Don’t lecture me,” he snapped, and this time there was no mistaking the anger behind it. He reached out, placing his hand firmly against her shoulder as if to guide—or force—her out of line.
That was the moment the room went completely still.
