Joyous Hunting

The Manager taps the grievance forms with her pen, then lifts her chin at the whole line of vendors. One signature, she says, and the dispute ends. If not, the office treats every refusal as separate noncompliance.

Hunter does not move. Behind him, the vendors stay shoulder to shoulder, quiet and watchful. The Clerk's eyes keep flicking to the doorway, then back to the forms, like she is waiting for someone else to decide for her.

The Manager's pen stops hovering. Her mouth tightens, and she slides a second sheet from the stack, already marked with the office letterhead and the vendor list beneath it. It is no longer just paperwork, it is the office trying to record who can be peeled away first.

Hunter remains at the front while the room holds its breath. The Clerk looks from the list to the vendors, then to the Manager, and the pressure in the office finally lands where it belongs, on the office's attempt to break the collective apart.

Hunter steps in and lays his palm flat over the marked sheet before the Manager can pull it free. The paper stops moving under his hand, and the office goes very still.

His cuff brushes the wet edge of the ink smear as he holds the list down. A dark streak transfers to his sleeve, a small price for pinning the page in place.

The Clerk leans forward, eyes fixed on Hunter's hand and the line behind him. Her hesitation before the call now looks less like caution and more like doubt.

The Manager's mouth goes flat. She does not speak for a beat, then slides the second sheet back under the stack, her silence sharper than any threat.