Ms. Davies led Kyro into a section of the office buzzing with focused energy.

This part of Catalyst was packed with junior analysts and research associates, their desks crowded with glowing monitors, complex spreadsheets, and financial news feeds. The air here felt different—less hushed, more alive—filled with the steady rhythm of keyboards and quiet conversations.

“This is Investment Research,” Ms. Davies said. “You’ll be reporting to Julian Vance for your first rotation. He’s our lead analyst for emerging tech. Brilliant… if a little intense.”

Kyro nodded, taking it all in.

Julian Vance looked up from his screen as they approached. He was in his early thirties, glasses perched low on his nose, his expression permanently focused.

“Julian, this is Kyro Bellamy,” Ms. Davies said. “Art Bellamy’s son.”

There it was again.

Julian offered a quick handshake. “Welcome, Kyro. There’s a free desk next to Emma. She’ll get you started.”

Ms. Davies gave Kyro a brief, reassuring pat on the arm before heading back toward the executive wing.

Kyro made his way to the open desk, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in his chest.

Emma looked up and smiled. Pink streaks framed her dark hair, and her expression was warm and amused. “You must be Kyro. I’m Emma. Don’t worry—Julian doesn’t speak before coffee.”

Kyro laughed softly. “Good to know.”

She showed him how to log into the system, where to find the internal databases, and which coffee machine was the least likely to betray him.

“Mostly we research startups,” she explained. “Financials, tech viability, leadership teams. It’s intense, but kind of amazing.”

Kyro found himself genuinely interested. This was what he wanted—real work, real opportunity.

The morning flew by in a blur of tutorials and data entry. Kyro focused hard, determined to prove he belonged here. Not because of his father.

But because he was capable.

Around lunchtime, a subtle shift moved through the office.

Voices softened. Chairs turned.

Noah Sinclair was walking through the department.

Kyro felt it before he saw him—the change in the air, the quiet attention.

Noah moved effortlessly through the rows of desks, exchanging nods and murmured greetings. He looked just as composed as he had in his office, his dark suit perfectly tailored.

Kyro quickly pretended to be deeply absorbed in his screen, even though his heart was pounding.

For a brief, terrifying second, he thought Noah might look his way.

He didn’t.

But the faint scent of Noah’s cologne lingered long after he passed.

Kyro let out a slow breath, his cheeks warm. He was being ridiculous.

Later that afternoon, Julian approached his desk.

“I’ve got your first real assignment,” he said. “A renewable-energy startup. Mr. Sinclair is personally interested. I’ll need a full report by tomorrow morning.”

Kyro’s pulse jumped.

“Yes—of course.”

Julian nodded. “You’ll probably be here late.”

Kyro glanced at the clock.

It was only 3 p.m.

And suddenly, the day felt full of dangerous possibility.