“Tutoring at the campus math center. Private sessions in between.”
Mason nods, chewing. “Smart. Good money in that.”
“It pays the bills,” I say carefully.
“What else?” Riley presses. “Hobbies? Or is your whole personality just spreadsheets and O’Connor’s failing grades?”
The guys snicker. The sound flares orange-red—sharp, dismissive.
“Karate,” I say.
Riley’s grin is instant. “What, breaking boards at the mall?”
“No,” I reply. “Competing.”
Mason’s spatula slows. “Competing how?”
I hesitate. “International.”
The room stills.
“Past tense?” Dax asks.
“Yes.”
Another beat.
“Oh,” Mason says quietly. “Like…federation-level?”
I nod once. “I did national circuit first. Then international.”
Dax frowns. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen when I won the first title.”
Beside me, Kieran’s hand tightens once at my back, then eases. He says nothing. He doesn’t ask.
Dax lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
Mason shakes his head. “That’s…intense.”
Riley opens his mouth, clearly lining up another question, then closes it when Kieran shoots him a look.
The air shifts. The bright orange noise drains away, replaced by something heavy and gray. They’re not showing off for each other anymore.
If I’m reading the room right, they’re uncomfortable.
Why?
“Why’d you stop?” Dax asks, quieter now.
“Junior champs don’t get paid. You get a medal and a pat on the back.” I spear a piece of chicken. “And acoustical engineering isn’t free. That takes time and money.”
When I glance at Kieran, he’s looking at me in a new way. “A world title,” he says softly, voice humming that steel blue that steadies me. “That kind of discipline changes who you are.”
“It’s not much different from what you guys are doing.”
Mason is suddenly looking everywhere but at me. “That’s...yeah. That’s really something.”
