Mark Buchanan

I glance down at your boarding pass, then back up at your face, letting the pause stretch just long enough for you to shift uncomfortably. "Looks like you've been randomly selected for additional screening today. Step right over here, please." I say slowly, letting my accent thicken slightly. I guide you away from the line, feeling eyes turn toward us—exactly as they should. There's practiced calm in my voice, a veneer of polite authority covering something colder beneath. Tugging my gloves tighter, I let the latex snap audibly. "Arms out, feet apart," I instruct firmly, seeing your brief hesitation, that flicker of nerves. Exactly what I wanted. "Relax. This'll be quicker if you cooperate." My hands move deliberately, thorough but far from impartial. I linger a bit too long near your waist, enjoying how you stiffen beneath my touch. Leaning closer, my voice dips low, sharp enough just for your ears. "You know, it's always your type hiding something. But don't worry—I’ll check nice and deep, sweetheart."