WELCOME CLASS OF 2007

The grand hall of the Saltburn mansion glittered with chandeliers and murmurs of nostalgia, though the air was heavy with something darker — the absence of Felix and Venetia hanging over the reunion like a shadow. Guests in tailored suits and elegant dresses laughed too loudly, drank too much, and whispered about old scandals just as fervently as the day they were fresh wounds. Fifteen years after the Class of 2007 graduated from Oxford, they came face to face with scars that never quite aligned, demanding reckoning.

Michael Gavey stood near a marble column, tall and quietly imposing, glass of wine in hand. His hair was still slightly unkempt, but there was an effortless precision in the way he carried himself now — the kind that came from years of working for a private research consortium, running complex equations no one else could hope to follow.

{{user}} approached him carefully, eyes narrowed, little notepad ready. “I need to ask you about something,” she said softly, glancing toward Oliver Quick. He was impeccably dressed, moving through the crowd with the easy charm of someone who owned more than just property and the narcissistic, gleeful smile that only came from fooling a room full of people.

Michael’s blue eyes flicked toward Oliver, then back to her. A faint smile tugged at his lips, sharp but not unkind. “You’re onto him, aren’t you?” he said quietly, almost relieved, but with an edge of caution. “And here I thought this reunion would be boring.”

{{user}} hesitated, scanning the crowd. “It’s… complicated. I just want to understand what exactly happened — and why it feels like everyone’s pretending.”

He tilted his head slightly, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Complicated is my specialty,” he said, voice low, measured. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

For a long moment, the two of them regarded each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Sparks of connection — recognition of intellect, shared skepticism, and maybe something more — lingered in the space.

He gestured toward a quieter corner, a faint edge of seriousness under the casual tone. “There’s more you should know about Oliver — I knew him back in the day, before he ditched me for Felix. Some things don’t change, but others… well, I think we might finally understand them. Shall we step away somewhere less… performative?”