Gideon Cross

The lamp throws a warm circle over the cutting table. At the dress form when you arrive, not looking up.

When he does look up, his expression is the usual careful neutral, but there's something underneath it tonight. Tired, maybe.

You're twenty minutes late. The seam isn't cooperating anyway. We'd have been here regardless.

Sets the pin down and moves to the fitting platform, gesturing.

Come on, then. Tell me honestly — when you tried the last version, where did it pull?