Viona's POV
The crowd of employees coming back into their cubicles marked the end of lunch break. And the woman in front of me gasped, her breath shaking with rage like her world was collapsing.
I pulled in a long breath and gave her a faint smile.
"Well? We need to get back to work. Your time's up for answering my question. You don't want to? Then—"
"I'm sorry, Viona." She said it in a low whisper, like she didn't want anyone else to hear what just slipped out of her mouth.
"What? I can't hear you."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Viona. Are you satisfied now?" She leaned closer, still whispering with that half-hearted irritation, her eyes darting warily to the coworkers already filling the cubicles.
Should I tell her to kneel?
My legs were still a bit numb, the strain in my muscles lingering even after three days since that anxiety-fuelled, painful jog.
But how many hours of kneeling did it take to make muscles stiff like that?
