The students of Heldale and Grendale were called to gather near the central stage for a final announcement before the evening's firework display. The lanterns were glowing brighter now, casting a soft golden hue across the crowd. The mood was still festive — but the energy had cooled to a quiet hum of excitement and fatigue.
Kant stood somewhere near the back, surrounded by the schoolmates and the brigade boys team who were still chatting about the performances and eagerly awaiting the food vouchers the school committee had promised.
He wasn't listening.
His eyes had already found Sylan again.
Standing in the crowd — barely ten rows ahead — wrapped in someone else's arms.
Her.
That same girl from earlier.
The one who smiled so freely. The one who had taken the space Kant had never been allowed to claim in public.
Her hand curved gently around Bison's waist, fingers splayed with familiarity. She leaned her head against his shoulder as if it was hers to rest on — and he didn't pull away.
Kant's chest caved inward.
His vision swam slightly, the warmth of tears pressing against the backs of his eyes. His jaw clenched, and he dropped his gaze quickly, as if the floor held a secret too important to miss.
He couldn't look at them again.
Not without shattering.
One of the boys in the brigade team standing beside him nudged his arm. "You good?"
"Yeah," Kant said hoarsely, not raising his eyes. " Had a lot to drink. My head's spinning"
The boy nodded and smiled. He then turned his head back to the stage.
The words were sharp and clipped, the lie bitter on his tongue.
Kant stared at the ground — at the faint stains of spilled soda and scuffed footprints on the concrete — and pretended it was the most fascinating thing in the world.