Kyle trudged through the Tiger Guild lobby, with his stomach begging for food.
"Shut up, you," he muttered to his belly, patting it like it'd listen. The fancy lights overhead buzzed softly, and the air still smelled like flowers—too clean, too rich. He felt like a smudge on a shiny mirror, sticking out worse than a slime in a soup bowl.
"Kyle Anders!" a sharp voice cut through the hum of the lobby.
He froze mid-step, nearly tripping over his own feet. Turning, he saw her—the interviewer lady with the tight bun and glasses that could cut glass. She stood by her desk, arms crossed, looking at him like he'd just tracked mud on her perfect floor. Which, okay, he might've.
"Uh... yeah?" he said, shuffling over. His heart did a little flip—did he mess up already? Was she kicking him out?
S
