"Aaah, come on! Does having an opinion mean being your enemy? Why are you like this?" Nia's voice rang out sharp and exasperated in Victoria's office, slamming her palms on the desk and hoisting herself up onto it.
Now on all fours, her body arched dramatically like a cat ready to pounce... or submit.
Victoria was sitting casually in her high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed as if this were just another day.
A faint, amused smile curled her lips, though her eyes betrayed a growing boredom, flickering occasionally to her phone.
She tilted her head slightly, swirling her synth-whiskey glass idly, unfazed by Nia's theatrical display.
The clock read 11:45 PM, the overhead lights of Hangar 47 casting long shadows across the office.
