Phei's body reacted before politeness could dress itself properly.
The anchor came in with that broad televised smile still stretched across his face, one hand extended, both arms opening just enough to disguise the ambush as hospitality — and Phei sidestepped him on pure instinct, avoiding him the way he'd avoid a blade rather than a greeting.
It was a small movement, graceful enough that it should have passed for accident.
But the anchor had committed too fully to the performance; he'd leaned forward expecting contact, and the cameras to drink in warmth and ease and masculine camaraderie manufactured for public consumption — and his own balance betrayed him with theatrical cruelty.
For one sharp second, the man almost fell on stage with camera capturing everything live.
The variety of almost that became a meme before the evening news had finished pretending to be respectable journalism.
