The aroma of stir-fried noodles filled Kyro’s workspace, cutting through the sterile office air.

Noah returned a few minutes later with two white paper bags in his hands.

“Delivery’s here,” he said, setting them down on Kyro’s desk. “I didn’t know if you preferred still or sparkling, so I grabbed both.”

“Sparkling is perfect,” Kyro said, suddenly very aware of how close Noah was standing.

Noah pulled up a chair and sat across from him, loosening his tie as he picked up his chopsticks.

“So,” he said casually, “what did you find in those patent filings?”

Kyro swallowed his nerves. “There are three major patents related to a new solid-state electrolyte. If they can scale it, it would change battery density and safety.”

Noah’s attention sharpened. “Go on.”

Kyro explained, words flowing more easily now that he was talking about something he loved. Noah listened closely, nodding, occasionally asking a thoughtful question that proved he was truly engaged.

“That’s impressive,” Noah said. “You caught things most people would miss.”

Kyro flushed. “I tried to look for the ‘why.’”

Noah smiled slightly. “Good.”

They kept talking as they ate, drifting from GreenSpark to renewable energy to the future of sustainability. Noah spoke about Catalyst with quiet passion, about wanting the company to be more than just a profit machine.

“You really care about this,” Kyro said.

“I do,” Noah replied. “It makes the long hours worth it.”

Then Noah looked at him more closely. “Your father said you want to start your own company someday.”

Kyro hesitated. “Something in sustainable design. Making everyday products more eco-friendly. It’s not exactly an empire.”

Noah studied him. “Small doesn’t mean unimportant. Every big idea starts small.”

Kyro found himself opening up, talking about waste, about wanting to create something that mattered. Noah listened, offering thoughtful suggestions that made Kyro’s chest warm with possibility.

By the time they finished eating, the containers were empty and the space between them felt… different.

“Thanks, Kyro,” Noah said softly. “This was productive. And the Pad See Ew was good.”

“Yeah,” Kyro said, smiling. “It really was.”

As Noah walked back to his office, Kyro sat there, heart racing.

He was still Art’s son.
Still just an intern.

But for two hours, Noah Sinclair had looked at him like something more.

And that was dangerous.