The disappointment from the past few weeks clung to Kyro like a damp shirt.

He buried himself in work—spreadsheets, projections, market analyses—anything to keep his thoughts from drifting where they didn’t belong. Julian even acknowledged his progress, grudgingly, which should have felt like a victory.

It didn’t.

When Ms. Davies announced the annual Catalyst Summer Mixer, Kyro felt a knot form in his stomach.

Families.

Which meant his father.

The night of the mixer arrived warm and buzzing. The rooftop bar glowed with string lights and laughter, the city glittering below. Kyro walked in beside Art, his eyes immediately finding Noah.

Noah wasn’t in a suit.

Dark jeans. Linen shirt. Sleeves rolled up.

Kyro’s heart stumbled.

“Noah!” Art boomed, clapping him on the back. “There you are.”

Noah smiled warmly at Art—then turned to Kyro with polite professionalism.

“Kyro. Good to see you.”

The distance stung.

“He’s been invaluable on GreenSpark,” Noah told Art. “Sharp kid. You raised him well.”

Kid.

Kyro nodded, swallowing the familiar disappointment.

This was all it would ever be.