Alexander looked at her.

She was asking him - not Mitchell, not the hospital staff, not anyone else. She was asking him, and she wasn't flinching while she did it. Most people who ended up on the floor in front of him looked at the floor. They apologized. They made themselves smaller.

This woman was kneeling on a hospital corridor tile and looking at him like she expected an actual answer.

He felt, somewhere in his chest, the very faint pull of something that was almost interest.

He didn't examine it. He was good at not examining things.

"The shirt is fine," he said again. "You can go."

"I'm not asking about the shirt."

Mitchell stepped forward. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to lower your-"

"I'm asking," she said, louder now, still looking at Alexander, "why it's acceptable for your employee to stand here and accuse me of doing this deliberately. I wasn't trying to spill anything on anyone. I was bringing food to my mother. She's in room 412." Her voice wavered, just slightly, on the word mother. She controlled it immediately. "That soup took me two hours to make this morning. And now it's on the floor. So no, I'm not going to 'go.' I'd like an actual response from the person in charge."

The corridor was quiet. A nurse passing at the far end glanced over, slowed, then kept walking.

Mitchell gave a short, humorless laugh. "Is this - are you actually trying to make a claim? Because if you're looking for a payday, I will tell you right now that Ashford's legal team will-"

"I don't want money." The words came out sharp and clean. "I want him to tell his person to stop talking to me like I'm a criminal."

Alexander turned back fully.

Something about her directness was starting to irritate him - not because it was wrong, but because it wasn't letting him leave, and he wanted to leave, and the fact that he was still standing here meant something was holding him here, and he didn't want to think about what that something was.

"Mitchell," he said. "Stop talking."

Mitchell stopped.

Alexander looked at the woman. "He shouldn't have said what he said. That's noted. You can file a formal complaint with the hospital administrative office if you want it on record." He paused. "Is there anything else?"

Her eyes stayed on his face. She held his gaze for a beat longer than was comfortable.

Then she said it.

"I look down on people like you." Her voice was very quiet. Not theatrical. Just honest, and tired, and completely certain. "People who travel in packs and let their employees do their dirty work and then act like they've been perfectly reasonable. I genuinely look down on you."

The words landed in the corridor and sat there.

Then she bent her head, set the ruined containers aside, and started to get up. She was already turning away from him.