Scrutinized Mga Nobela at Kwento

I could feel the weight of their eyes on me, heavy and assessing, like physical pressure against my skin. Each gaze carried different intentions—some curious, others suspicious, a few openly hostile—but all shared the same underlying quality: calculation. Nothing and no one was viewed without first determining value, usefulness, or threat level. I was being cataloged, dissected, my worth measured in ways I couldn't fully comprehend. Their scrutiny raised goosebumps along my arms despite the warmth of the crowded room, a primitive response to predatory attention that no amount of composure could fully suppress.

"Sir, we have been conducting regular audits and monitoring the system." "Then show me the reports." He opened his laptop and began searching through the records. I waited. After several seconds, he turned the screen toward me. I scanned the reports, my expression hardening. The audits had been completed. The boxes had been checked. The documentation was neatly organized. But the level of scrutiny was nowhere near what I expected.