Theo nods like this aligns everything back into place.
Wren doesn’t move, but I feel the smallest shift beside me.
Feldman studies me for a beat longer than necessary.
“Then you need to be careful,” he says, not unkind. “Because projects like this don’t stay small. And divided attention shows.”
My jaw tightens.
“This doesn’t have to become anything,” he continues. “But if you keep pushing it, itwill. Whether you’re ready or not.”
He turns back to his computer.
“Short term,” he says, typing. “Run more tests. Refine the model. Keep it clean. We’ll talk again after midterms.”
Theo exhales quietly. Wren’s fingers lace together, then still. As for me…
I sit there, heartbeat loud in my ears, with the uncomfortable certainty that I’ve just been warned.
We fallinto step without talking, and suddenly I’m aware of every inch of space between us. The memory of her skin under my hands. The way she fit against me. The sounds she made falling apart on my tongue.
The hallway curves toward the main atrium. I’ve walked this stretch a thousand times thinking about drills and line changes, next games, next shifts.
Now my brain keeps snagging on things I don’t have time for.
Feldman’s voice.
The wordstartup.
A future I didn’t ask to picture.
I shake it off and clear my throat. “So. How does it feel having a professor tell you your homework might be worth millions?”
“Terrifying,” she says instantly.
I huff a laugh. “Terrifying good or terrifying bad?”
“Both.” She tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “IP offices. Investors. Pitch decks. That’s…a lot.”
“You handled Feldman fine.”
“That was academic.” She glances up. “A professor grilling me is survivable. Venture-capital bros in Patagonia vests? Hard pass.”
“Theo and I can buffer you,” I joke. “You handle the brain part. We’ll handle the bros.”
Her mouth twitches. “That’s a horrifying sentence.”
I hook my fingers through her backpack strap and slide the bag onto my shoulder. “We did agree on the boyfriend perk. I carry your books.”
She stops mid-step, staring at me. “You have that elementary-school, pigtail-pulling, book-carrying game down, don’t you?”
“I’m very good at my assignments,” I say mildly, tugging her back into motion, fingers finding hers and lacing tight. “I follow through. I pay attention.” I glance at her, voice dropping just enough. “And if we’re talking performance metrics—were you not in the room when I had you coming apart three times last night?”
Her pulse jumps at her throat. Color floods her cheeks.
She’s flustered, searching for words, and it’s adorable.
“It’s called a hat trick, by the way,” I add, grinning.
