Jordan stood up slowly, her chair scraping against the tiled floor with a sound that cut through the room’s noise. Every eye was on her now, the air thick with anticipation. She straightened her jacket, brushing off invisible dust, and stepped around the overturned tray.
“Why would I cry?” she asked, her voice steady and clear, cutting through the silence like a knife. Her question hung in the air, echoing around the room. Chase’s smirk faltered, uncertainty creeping into his eyes.
Bela leaned forward, her phone aimed squarely at Jordan, but even she seemed to sense the shift. There was something in Jordan’s posture, a quiet confidence that unsettled even the most seasoned bullies. It was as if she was standing on a stage, the center of attention, and she was completely at ease.
