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They’re not looking at the force plates.

I’ve brought exactly nobody into this building. Not a girlfriend, not a family member, not one person who didn’t already have a badge of their own. There’s a woman standing on the rubber floor of my workplace holding a tablet with my name on it, and every man in here has noticed, and I find that I don’t mind.

Maren catches me looking. “Try to act normal.”

“You brought a woman into my workplace wearing a badge that says CONTRACTOR. Normal is gone.”

Astrid glances at the badge. “It has failed to open two doors.”

“Security is protecting us from outsiders.”

“Poorly.”

She says it without looking at me. She has already checked the calibration twice and crossed something off Maren’s equipment sheet with a pen she brought herself.

This morning she sent me three rules. Do what she asks and nothing more. Tell her when something changes, not afterward. Do not perform for the room.

I told her number three was unreasonable.

She didn’t disagree.

“Shoes off. Stand here.”

I step onto the plates.

Maren turns the display so all three of us can see it. Astrid stands close enough to touch my elbow and does not.

“Raise the right arm.”

I do.

The line beneath my feet moves.

“Again.”

I lower it and repeat.

Same shift.

“I didn’t move.”

“Your feet did not.”

She taps the screen once.

“You take weight off the right.”

I look down at myself as though the answer might be visible from there.

“I can’t feel that.”

“I know.”

That lands worse than it should. The shoulder has been making decisions without consulting me.

“Again.”

I reset and keep my weight even on purpose.