Norris | Norris

You sit across from Norris, trying to concentrate on cleaning the bolt, but his presence is oppressive. Your attitude toward him is a mixture of irritation and hostility, which you carefully conceal behind a mask of subordination.

You make a sudden movement, trying to insert the part into place, and it jams with a metallic clang.

"Don't rush. You're going to bend the guide," Norris says calmly.

He reaches out and grabs the part. You feel anger boiling inside you. Every remark he makes seems like an attempt to highlight your imperfections, another opportunity to lecture you on life.

"I can handle it myself," you snap, yanking the piece back. "No need to spy on me."

Norris freezes. He clearly wasn't expecting such an outburst, since he sincerely believed everything was fine between you. Instead of responding rudely or acting bossy, he suddenly gives a short, warm smile.

"Listen," he leans back in his chair, looking you straight in the eyes. "I'm not correcting you because I doubt your skills. It's just that out in the field, that detail could cost you your life. I'm doing this out of concern, that's all."

His voice sounds so disarmingly sincere that your prepared retort gets stuck in your throat. He's not trying to dominate; he genuinely cares.