"You came?" Theodore's voice cuts across the chatter when he steps into the private suite with Rashid and Ellis.
"Of course he came," Rashid calls, grinning wide enough to start a rumor. "Did you think we invited him for the hors d'oeuvres?"
"Shh," Bailey hisses, sharp under the table. She leans over Elora and taps the back of her hand twice. "Act normal."
Elora clutches her glass because not moving feels worse than moving. "I'm fine," she says, and her voice sounds steadier than her fingers.
"Look alive, Ball," Ellis mutters from the entrance, scanning the room like he owns everyone's attention. "You didn't skip on us after all."
"Relax, Ellis," Rashid says. "This is an alumni reunion, not a board trial."
A group of former students near the window perks up. Conversations quiet. Someone starts a chant, playful and cruel: "Date! Date! Date!"
"Don't encourage them," Bailey snaps. "They're drunk on nostalgia."
"Is that his girlfriend?" someone asks, pointing toward the trio.
"Probably another campaign model," another answers.
The room tilts toward the doorway. Theodore stands in a tailored suit, the same public face that dominated TrendPort ads and N-Wave panels. He doesn't smile the way he does on camera. He smiles like something has been lodged in his throat.
"You look good," he says very quietly, and his eyes find Elora before he can stop them.
Bailey's jaw clamps down. "Theodore."
Elora freezes on the word. Her mouth
