"They, um..." She glanced at me, at Charlotte, at Ms. Chen—then at Rory, who was still coloring but absolutely listening with the focus of a tiny FBI agent. "They say you're not a snitch."
Ms. Chen blinked. "Not a snitch?"
"Like… you don't report small mistakes to corporate. You handle things in-house." Vanessa's lips quirked, the first real sign of ease she'd shown all night. "Someone said you run the kitchen like a warden who actually wants her inmates to get rehabilitated instead of shanked."
The table erupted.
Charlotte's laugh burst out bright and surprised, the kind that came from being caught off guard. Ms. Chen actually snorted—a short, undignified sound she immediately tried to disguise by clearing her throat, sitting up straighter as if posture alone could erase the evidence.
Even Rory looked up from her napkin masterpiece, grinning at the contagious adult joy she didn't fully understand.
