Phei came down the spiral staircase in a light gray suit that had no business looking that good on a seventeen-year-old.
Slim-cut. Modern.
The jacket slightly oversized in the shoulders the way expensive tailoring allowed—not sloppy, just easy, like the suit had been built around the concept of a boy who didn't try and didn't need to.
White crew-neck tee underneath instead of a dress shirt because he wasn't going to a board meeting, he was going on a date, and the tee sat clean against his collarbones in a way that made formality feel like a waste of everyone's time.
Cropped trousers, no socks, white leather shoes that probably cost more than a semester's textbook budget.
A thin silver bracelet on one wrist—the only jewellery he wore now, the only jewellery he needed for today.
He looked like money that had never worried about money. Like a man magazines invented and reality forgot to delete.
