A guy with carefully styled hair and an expensive watch sat down across from him without asking. "Sean, right? I’m Marcus. I run the campus investment club. We meet Thursdays. I think you’d be a great addition."

A girl who looked like she’d put significant effort into her appearance sat down next to Marcus. "I’m in the business school too. Sean, I just wanted to say, your answer in Whitfield’s class was incredible. Most people in that course can barely define supply and demand."

A third guy hovered nearby, clearly waiting for an opening to insert himself into the conversation.

Sean looked at all three of them. He could read the room easily enough. Some of this was genuine interest. Most of it was opportunism, plain and simple. People who smelled money and influence and wanted to attach themselves to it before anyone else got there first.

"I appreciate the interest," said Sean. "But I’m not really looking to join clubs right now."

"That’s fair," said Marcus, undeterred. "But maybe we could just grab coffee sometime. Talk shop. I’ve got some investment theses I’d love a second opinion on."

Sean considered him for a moment. There was something slightly different about Marcus than the others. Less performative. More like someone who actually cared about the subject matter and saw Sean as a resource rather than just a connection to flaunt to other people.

"Send me what you’re working on," said Sean. "I’ll take a look."

Marcus’s expression brightened genuinely. "Seriously? Yeah. Yeah, I’ll email you tonight."

"Don’t email me," said Sean. "Text me." He gave Marcus his number.

The girl looked slightly put out that Marcus had gotten something out of the conversation and she hadn’t. "Maybe we could study together sometime? For Whitfield’s class?"

"Maybe," said Sean. Noncommittal.

The third guy finally found his opening. "Hey, so, I heard you bought the entire inventory at Élite Fashion. Is that true? My cousin works there, she said she’d never seen anything like it."

"It’s an exaggeration," said Sean. "But not by much."

The guy laughed, slightly too loud, the kind of laugh that came from nerves rather than genuine amusement. "That’s insane, man. What do you even do? Like for money? You’re a freshman."

"I invest," said Sean simply. He didn’t elaborate further.

"In what?"

"Things that work out," said Sean.

The table laughed at that, even though it wasn’t really a joke. Marcus eventually pulled the conversation toward stock theses and earnings reports, and Sean found himself engaging more than he expected to, offering small corrections and observations that made Marcus’s eyes widen slightly each time.

"You really know this stuff," said Marcus, almost to himself.

"I pay attention," said Sean.

Eventually the table thinned out, people peeling off toward their afternoon classes, until it was just Sean finishing the last of his food alone. He sat there for a moment, thinking about Olivia, about the showcase she’d mentioned, about Manager Kwon’s suspicion. He filed it away. There would be time to deal with all of that.

His phone buzzed once more before he stood up to leave. Another text from Olivia.

Survived rehearsal. Twelve formations later. Kwon says hi by the way, which from him basically counts as a marriage proposal.

Sean smiled and typed back. Tell him I said the same.

He’s going to actually combust this weekend, I hope you know that.

Looking forward to it.

He put the phone away and headed toward his afternoon class, the small warmth of the exchange staying with him longer than he expected.

—------------

His afternoon class was the same general elective from earlier, a continuation session, less interesting, easier to drift through. He sat near the back this time, away from most of the lingering attention, and let his mind wander while the professor lectured about something that barely registered.

Around two thirty his phone buzzed. Not the system. A text from Max.

Got more on Richards. You free to talk tonight?

Sean typed back under the desk. Yeah. What do you have.

Not over text. Too sensitive. Can you come by tonight after eight?

I’ll be there, Sean replied.

He put his phone away and tried to focus on the lecture, but his mind kept circling back to the conversation with Danny from the night before. Richards. A fixer who worked for multiple clients. Victor described as a contractor, not the architect.

Someone bigger was out there. Someone who had hired Victor to acquire specific properties, who probably didn’t even know Victor’s name personally, who operated at a level where individual targets like Makima’s building were just line items in a much larger plan.

Sean had neutralized Victor. But Victor was apparently just one piece on a board controlled by someone else entirely.

The lecture finally ended. Sean packed up his things and walked out into the afternoon light. The quad was busy, students moving between buildings in loose streams, groups sitting on the grass enjoying the weather while it lasted.

He started walking toward the parking area where James usually waited.

That was when he noticed the man.

Standing near the edge of the quad, by a row of trees, dressed in a dark gray suit that was too formal for a college campus on an ordinary Tuesday. Not a professor. Not a parent visiting. He was holding a coffee cup he wasn’t drinking from, and his attention was angled toward Sean in a way that felt deliberate rather than coincidental.

Sean kept walking, but he watched the man peripherally, the way he’d learned to watch things without making it obvious he was watching.

The man didn’t move. Just stood there.

Sean reached the edge of the quad and glanced back over his shoulder, more directly this time.

The man was gone.

Sean stopped walking for a moment. Scanned the area. The space where the man had been standing was empty. A group of students had cut between Sean and that spot for maybe three seconds. In that window, the man had simply disappeared, the way someone disappears when they’ve practiced disappearing.