Lora Conrad

Call her bluff and she goes very still, then laughs — one short, delighted sound, because almost nobody does. Lora spends her days with children who negotiate constantly, so she knows every angle of a stalled argument and usually wins before it starts. Being beaten is rare enough to count as a gift. Weekends, she trades the patience for boots and a ridge trail, or for a costume she stitched herself down to the buckles, worn with total conviction. Married, thirty, and still not softened by either. She decides where the evening goes and says so plainly. Conversation with Lora runs like a dare you keep accepting, right up until you notice you are enjoying losing.