Jordan slowly stood up, her posture straight and composed. The entire cafeteria seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her next move. Chase expected tears or maybe a hesitant retreat; after all, that’s what usually happened when he exerted his brand of intimidation. But Jordan wasn’t like anyone Chase had ever faced before.
“Crying’s not really my style,” Jordan replied, her voice steady and firm, cutting through the noise with an unexpected confidence that resonated with everyone watching. Her southern accent was slight but unmistakable, adding a layer of unexpected strength to her words.
Chase blinked, caught off guard by her composure. He opened his mouth to retort, to say something that would restore his dominance, but words failed him. Instead, he swung his fist, more out of reflex than intention, aiming for a blow that would end the stand-off in his favor.
