“You will function as instructed,” he snaps.
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
The tension sharpens instantly.
He steps closer. “You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in.”
“I understand it perfectly.”
“Then act like it.”
“I am.”
His hand twitches again, and I track the movement without reacting.
“You think this is a discussion,” he says.
“No,” I reply. “I think this is a pattern.”
His eyes narrow. “What pattern?”
“You establish control through escalation,” I say. “When that fails, you escalate again.”
Silence falls heavily between us.
“You think you’ve figured me out,” he says.
“I think you’re predictable,” I reply.
His composure fractures slightly, enough for me to see it.
“You will attend,” he says again, his voice lower now.
“I will observe,” I reply.
“You will participate.”
“I will not perform belief,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “You will comply.”
“No.”
The word lands without hesitation.
For a moment, I expect another strike, but instead he leans closer, the scent of incense clinging to him thick and suffocating.
“You have until tomorrow,” he says quietly. “Adjust, or I will have you reassigned.”
“That’s not a threat,” I say. “That’s an inefficiency.”
His eyes flash. “Explain.”
“If I fail here, it reflects on your selection,” I say. “Not just mine.”
That pauses him, briefly.
“You’re not as valuable as you think you are,” he says.
