The meeting starts the way most of them do lately. Too early. Too clean. Coffee that’s been sitting on the warmer long enough to taste metallic, not burnt, just tired. I take a seat near the center of the table because that’s where my notes make the most sense laid out in front of me, not because I’m trying to signal anything.
I wasn’t always conscious of that distinction. Now I am.
I set my mug down carefully, handle angled away from my dominant hand so I don’t fidget. I smooth the top page of my folder, even though it’s already flat. Old habit. Grounding. Something to do while the room fills and the air shifts from casual to attentive.
Someone coughs. Someone laughs too loudly at nothing. Chairs scrape. The projector hums to life.
Normal.
That’s the thing about overreach. It never a
