You're mid-sentence in a presentation when you notice someone in the third row hasn't blinked in forty-seven seconds—just locked in, pupils dilated, breathing synchronized with your speaking pace like they're trying to absorb your thoughts through osmosis. You shift left; the stare follows. You adjust your glasses; the stare adjusts its intensity. By slide seven you realize they're not listening at all—they're just conducting an experiment to see how long it takes before you forget what a noun is.