Rosy didn't dare to argue; the weight of the store manager's words pressed down on her heart like an invisible hand. Bowing respectfully was the only response she could muster, her trembling figure betraying her nervousness.
The murmurs in the shop still hadn't died down, yet no one dared to speak above a whisper while Susan Barkov stood in sight. Her presence alone carried a natural authority, as though the store itself bent its will around her.
After that brief but striking exchange, store manager Susan did not linger. Her smile faded into a subtle, unreadable expression, and she turned with graceful steps that made her long robes ripple like flowing mist. It was clear that she wished to remain, that she had questions burning behind her composed exterior, but the present situation did not allow her the liberty to pry. The rules of this place—and perhaps her own pride—restrained her.
