Chloe didn’t flinch.
She didn’t step back.
Seeking to completely humiliate her in front of his live stream audience, Bradley suddenly chambered his leg and whipped a lightning fast roundhouse kick directly at Chloe’s head.
It was a classic intimidation tactic.
A kick meant to stop a fraction of an inch from the target’s nose to make them flinch, scream, or fall over.
The heavy leather of his sneaker stopped exactly 1 inch from Chloe’s left temple.
The displaced air fluttered her loose hair.
Any normal person would have screamed.
Any normal person would have thrown their hands up, stumbled backward, and cowered.
Chloe didn’t blink.
Her breathing didn’t even accelerate.
She simply stood there, staring at the leg hovering near her face with bored indifference.
Bradley’s smirk faltered.
He lowered his leg, slightly unnerved by her total lack of reaction.
To cover his embarrassment, he slapped the tray of silverware out of her hand.
It crashed onto the linoleum with a deafening clatter.
“Clean that up,” Bradley spat, turning his back to her and laughing for the camera.
“You call that karate, kid?” he yelled across the room to Toby.
“That’s real speed. You people wouldn’t know a real fight if it kicked your teeth in.”
Behind him, Chloe looked down at the scattered silverware.
She looked at Toby, who was shaking in the corner, tears of humiliation welling in his eyes.
She looked at the smartphone in Cameron’s hand, broadcasting the cruelty to thousands.
Slowly, Chloe reached around to the small of her back.
She took hold of the strings of her apron.
The diner was suffused with a suffocating tension.
The only sound was the rhythmic thrum of the rain hitting the large glass windows and the tinny distorted audio of Cameron’s live stream echoing from his phone.
Chloe’s hands pulled the knot free.
She slipped the white loop over her head.
She folded the apron with methodical, agonizingly slow precision.
Once in half, then again, and placed it gently on the counter next to the cash register.
When she turned back around, the exhausted, subservient waitress was gone.
Her posture had completely transformed.
Her spine was perfectly straight, her shoulders dropped, releasing the tension she carried all day.
Her feet shifted subtly on the linoleum, her left foot sliding slightly forward, her right heel lifting a millimeter off the ground.
It was an ancient, deeply rooted stance.
The air around her seemed to drop by 10°.
“Hey,” Chloe said.
Her voice cut through the diner like a blade drawn from a sheath.
Bradley paused mid-laugh and turned around.
He looked at her, irritated.
“Are you deaf? I told you to get my—”
“You have terrible hip mobility,” Chloe interrupted, her voice deadpan.
