“Iris.” “Yes?” She assesses the log-in screen like it’s written in Morse code. “Tell me what’s wrong so we can get on with our day.” She seems to not like my command based on the way she smashes her fingers against the keyboard. “Why would anything be wrong?” “Quit the passive-aggressive attitude and talk to me.” I cover her hand with my palm, stopping her typing. “You’re the last person I want to speak to right now.” Her eyes finally slice into me as she steals her hand away. What I find reflecting in them is not what I expected. She might as well wave a red flag above her head, warning me to
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