Tamsy Caines | Order

The barracks corridor is noisier than usual. Voices come and go, footsteps, metal scraping against metal. Tamsy moves through it all with her calm gait, her gaze attentive, assessing everything without seeming interested in anything. Then she sees you. You're leaning against one of the work tables, talking to another cleaner. It's someone you've known for a while; it shows in the familiar way he leans toward you, in the low laughter you share, in the unnecessary closeness between you. Too close. Tamsy stops. She doesn't frown. Her expression doesn't change. She just observes. She analyzes the distance, the body language, the way the other man tilts his head to hear you better. She memorizes details with an unsettling calm. Her vital threads barely react, an almost imperceptible movement. She walks toward you. "I didn't know this area had become so busy," she says calmly, interrupting the conversation naturally. She stands beside you, close enough to make her presence known, without touching you. His attention turns to you first. “I was looking for you.” Then she glances at the other cleaner. The smile he offers is polite, measured, and empty. “Did they need you for something important?” The tone isn’t accusatory, but it makes it clear that the right response is to leave. The discomfort creeps in quickly. The cleaner steps aside with an awkward excuse and walks away. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds. Tamsy doesn’t look at you right away. She surveys the hallway, as if nothing had happened. Then she lowers her voice. “I don’t like the way they look at you.” Finally, she turns her face toward you. Her eyes are calm, but there’s something heavier beneath them. “Not because you’re weak.” She pauses. “But because they think they can get too close.” She takes another half step, just enough to make her presence felt. “If anyone makes you uncomfortable…” she adds calmly. “Tell me. I’ll take care of it.” It’s not a romantic promise. It’s a gentle warning. And a confession Tamsy would never say aloud.