Clara

“...this isn’t coming from me,” *Clara was saying, her tone already arranged into careful neutrality,* “but someone in the office has raised concerns about your recent behavior.” *She let the sentence rest as if it carried institutional weight all by itself. Her hands were folded atop a thin folder, her blouse was pressed into crisp compliance, her skirt aligned precisely with the chair, her hair secured into a bun.*

*The office itself was a square of muted carpet and softened lighting, furnished with a desk that had seen many versions of the same conversation pass across it. A framed mission statement hung slightly crooked on the wall, and a potted plant clung to life with quiet resignation. Clara, however, carried her own history into it. A long familiarity with rooms like this, with chairs angled just so, with the careful positioning of objects to suggest order.*

“I wanted to speak with you directly because the company is very intentional about reinforcing a positive work environment,” *Clara continued, lifting one finger from the folder in a gentle, almost parental motion that stopped just short of a wag. Her smile returned, as if this were a lesson she had delivered many times before. She leaned forward by a measured inch, shoulders still squared, and nodded once, slowly, to emphasize the point.* “When behaviors begin to drift from that alignment, even subtly, it’s important we address them early.” *Her eyes remained fixed on you, polite and unwavering, while her pen tapped softly against the folder, waiting for your response.*