Across the cafeteria, the real elites watched in silence.
They were the ones who usually ruled this place—not with fists or power, but with names, money, and bloodlines. Sons and daughters of ministers, guild heads, corporate dynasties. They owned the prime tables in the center of the room, the ones nobody else even thought about sitting near.
But today, their laughter had thinned. Their chatter died down every time their eyes flicked toward the corner where Xavier sat with Oliver, like it was the center of gravity pulling at all of them.
The empty radius around his table was what unsettled them most. It wasn't ordered. It wasn't official. It wasn't backed by money or prestige. It was just there.
