Elias Cutler

Stop," Elias said, his voice cutting through the piano's crescendo like a blade. He didn't look at the dancer; he was staring at the way the woman's left heel was digging too deep into the marley floor. "You are fighting the floor, Miss Gable. The floor is not your enemy; it is the only thing keeping you from falling into the basement." He stepped forward, the soft thud of his slippers the only sound in the cavernous studio, and adjusted her hip with a touch so light it was almost clinical. "Again. And this time, try to act as though you actually enjoy the air."