The evaluation room had been designed to watch without appearing hungry.
That made it worse.
There were no velvet ropes. No screaming photographers. No rainwater on marble. No publicist smiling with her teeth while pretending not to see blood. Just a clean black floor, a wall of glass darkened to mirror, three cameras mounted so discreetly they felt more surgical than cinematic, and a panel table lit by a single strip of white light.
Professional cruelty, I was learning, often had excellent lighting.
I stood at the entrance mark and let the room take me in.
Not quickly.
That was the point.
The dress helped.
It was ivory, but not bridal. The front rose high at the throat in a clean, severe line, leaving my shoulders bare while hiding the fragile places people liked to read first. Bl
