Chapter 3 — The Rules of Engagement

Elliot

The Workshop Loft thrummed with subdued anticipation. Elliot adjusted the cuffs of his blazer, the sharp tug of the fabric a ritual that steadied him. Beneath the polished exterior of his jacket, the cool, familiar weight of the silver pocket watch pressed against his chest. He tugged his sleeve once more and exhaled, letting the persona he had honed for years settle over him like a second skin. Confidence. Composure. Control.

The chairs tonight were arranged in a loose semi-circle, encouraging conversation more than instruction. It was a deliberate choice, one that invited vulnerability while reinforcing his own position at the center of the group. Elliot’s sharp green eyes scanned the room, taking inventory with a practiced ease. Their tells were small but unmistakable: the man near the back who laughed a fraction too loudly, masking unease; the other who tapped his foot to a jittery, uneven rhythm. Each person wore their hopes, fears, and insecurities in ways they likely didn’t realize. They had come here for transformation, and Elliot had spent years learning how to read and guide those desires.

And then there was her.

“Mallory,” as she had introduced herself, sat near the center of the room. Her posture was a study in calculated ease—relaxed, but not too much. Her sharp hazel eyes tracked his every movement with a meticulous focus that felt almost surgical. The frayed edges of her leather notebook stood out against the Loft’s curated sophistication, her pen tapping a steady rhythm on its cover. It wasn’t fidgeting; it was deliberate, purposeful. She held herself differently than the others. Elliot’s gaze lingered a fraction too long before moving on.

Interesting.

“Let’s get started,” he said, his voice slicing cleanly through the low murmurs of conversation.

The room quieted immediately, all attention snapping to him. Elliot allowed the faintest smile to curve his lips. Commanding a space like this wasn’t magic—it was skill. Every word, every gesture, every pause was intentional, crafted to both draw them in and keep them there. Yet, as he stepped into the circle, a faint flicker of unease tugged at his thoughts. He forced it aside, burying it under the weight of routine.

“This workshop is about understanding connection,” he began, pacing the room with casual purpose. “What draws people together. What creates trust. What pushes us apart. This isn’t about manipulation or deception. It’s about clarity—about understanding yourself and the dynamics at play around you.”

The words flowed easily, but as they hung in the air, Elliot caught himself scanning their faces for validation—a habit he didn’t particularly like acknowledging. Several attendees nodded, their expressions eager, hopeful. But Mallory tilted her head just slightly, her pen hovering above her notebook. Her lips twitched into the barest hint of a smirk, skepticism carved into the faint curve. It wasn’t an unfamiliar look, but there was something in her gaze that felt sharper, more personal, than the usual doubters he encountered.

“Let’s start with an exercise,” he said, cutting through the tension before it could grow. “I want each of you to think back to a moment when you felt completely at ease in a social situation. Maybe it was with a close friend, a family member… even a stranger. Hold onto that feeling. What made it work? What made you feel comfortable?”

The group shifted subtly, bodies sinking into varying degrees of introspection. Some furrowed their brows in thought; others glanced downward, avoiding eye contact. Elliot scanned their expressions, noting who retreated and who leaned into the exercise. His gaze landed on Augie, seated near the edge of the group. The young man sat curled inward, his lanky frame folding in on itself like a protective shell. His fingers brushed the edge of his messenger bag, where a small array of enamel pins caught the light—a pixelated heart, a swirling galaxy, and a slogan that read “Be Kind.” The pins were an unfiltered burst of individuality against the room’s calculated polish, a detail Elliot found oddly grounding.

“Augie,” Elliot said gently.

Augie’s head jerked up, his glasses slipping down his nose as his startled gaze darted toward Elliot. The room turned with him, a dozen pairs of eyes amplifying his unease. He adjusted the strap of his bag, his fingers tightening on the edges. “Oh, um… I don’t know if I have anything interesting to share.”

“This isn’t about being interesting,” Elliot replied, his tone warm but steady. “It’s about being honest. What came to mind?”

Augie hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag before he finally spoke. “I guess… it was with my sister. We were just sitting on the couch, watching a movie. I didn’t have to think about what to say or do. It just… felt natural.”

Elliot nodded, a small, encouraging smile softening his sharp features. “That’s a perfect example. Connection doesn’t have to come from grand gestures or clever words. Sometimes, it’s about presence. About feeling safe enough to just… be.”

As Augie’s shoulders relaxed slightly, Elliot felt a flicker of warmth that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. There was an earnestness in Augie’s vulnerability that reminded him of something—of someone—but the thought slipped away before he could name it. Guilt followed in its place, an old, familiar weight that settled just beneath his ribs.

Mallory’s pen moved steadily across her notebook, capturing every word with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. When her gaze flicked up and met his, Elliot felt a jolt of irritation tempered by curiosity. She wasn’t just skeptical—she was dissecting him.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands lightly to recenter the group. “Let’s build on that. Confidence is key in any social interaction, but it’s not about arrogance or bravado. It’s about knowing your value and communicating it authentically.”

“Authentically?” The word came from Mallory, her voice smooth but edged with sharp challenge. Her pen paused mid-tap. “Isn’t this whole workshop about teaching people to be… well, not themselves?”

The room stilled, charged with a new kind of tension. Several attendees exchanged uneasy glances, while Augie fidgeted with the edge of one of his pins. Elliot’s smile remained in place, though he felt his jaw tighten beneath it. His hand brushed the pocket watch in his jacket, the cool metal grounding him.

“Not at all,” he said, his tone calm and deliberate. “This isn’t about changing who you are. It’s about understanding how to present your best self. Authenticity doesn’t mean being unfiltered. It means being intentional.”

“And how do you measure ‘best’?” Mallory pressed, the faintest edge of amusement in her tone. “Isn’t that subjective?”

Elliot chuckled softly, the sound carefully measured to defuse. “A fair question,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Best is subjective, yes. But the confidence we build here isn’t about pretending to be something you’re not. It’s about quieting the noise of insecurity so people can see you clearly.”

Mallory regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slight nod, she resumed her note-taking. Elliot exhaled silently and turned back to the group, though his thoughts lingered on her longer than he intended.

The rest of the session unfolded smoothly, Elliot guiding the attendees through exercises designed to build rapport and ease. Yet his focus kept drifting back to Mallory. There was a deliberateness in her skepticism that sparked something in him—irritation, yes, but also intrigue. She wasn’t desperate for validation like most of the others, nor dismissive. She was something else entirely, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

As the session wound down, Elliot lingered near the front of the room, observing as the attendees filtered out. Augie approached hesitantly, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Thanks for, uh, letting me share earlier,” he mumbled. “I don’t usually… talk much.”

“You did well,” Elliot replied, clapping a hand on Augie’s shoulder. “Keep showing up. That’s half the battle.”

Augie nodded, his tentative smile lighting up his face. He adjusted his glasses before heading toward the door. Elliot watched him go, pride mingling with that heavier feeling he couldn’t quite shake.

“Interesting group tonight.”

The voice came from behind him, low and smooth. He turned to find Mallory standing nearby, her notebook tucked under her arm. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes glinted with sharp intent.

“They are,” he replied evenly. “Everyone comes here for their own reasons. Some want to learn. Others want to grow.”

“And you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “What do you want?”

The question caught him off guard, though he kept his composure. He held her gaze steadily, his voice calm. “To help people.”

Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile—amused, perhaps, or skeptical. “Interesting.”

Before he could respond, she turned and walked toward the door, her steps measured and deliberate. Elliot watched her go, his brows furrowing slightly. As the door clicked shut behind her, his fingers brushed the cool surface of the pocket watch in his jacket.

The cracks were there, faint but widening. Whether she had seen them, or simply created her own, remained to be seen.