“I think I keep waiting for someone to pull me aside and say, ‘Actually, you’re not supposed to be here. We made a mistake.’”
Noah’s voice softens. “Impostor syndrome. Fun.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” He pauses, then looks at me. “But it’s not going to happen.”
I glance at him. He gives me that half-smile, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes but still feels warm.
“You’re here because you earned it. Not because of Lucian. Not becauseyou’re some pawn in a larger game. You’re here because you keep getting up. Even when you have every reason not to.”
I swallow. “I still feel like I’m behind.”
“You are.”
I blink.
“But so was I when I started. So was Tex. Jace too, even if he pretends otherwise.” He nudges my shoulder gently. “It’s not about where you start. It’s about whether you survive long enough to catch up.”
I don’t respond right away.
The trees thin a little ahead, and we step into a patch of sun. I close my eyes for a moment and let the warmth settle across my face.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
He nods like he expected that. “Good. The second you stop being scared is when you get reckless. And we can’t afford that. Not with what’s coming.”
I glance sideways at him. “You think it’s going to be bad?”
“I think it’s already worse than we know.”
I hum.
“What do your parents do?” I ask.
“They’re corporate lawyers.” Noah’s voice hardens.
“I’m guessing they aren’t stoked with you not following their footsteps.”
He nods. “They were stoked when Jace chose me to be part of the ‘Blackmoore Four’ but they were not so stoked when I told them I’d be specializing in tech rather than law.”
“Lucians successful in tech, how is that not good enough?” my brows furrow.
His jaw flexes. “My dad knows Lucian is successful in tech and security. But he just wanted me to continue the family business.”
I bite my cheek.
“Well, you’re clearly excellent at what you do.” I look at him and give him a small smile.
“Thanks.”
We fall silent again. But it’s not heavy. Not really. It’s clarity.
And I think that’s what Noah gives best, not reassurance, not comfort. Perspective.
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say softly.
He bumps my shoulder. “Thanks for letting me.”
