"Is something wrong?" I asked.

Nate didn’t answer immediately. He kept tapping the laptop trackpad, back straight, gaze trained on the screen like it held the meaning of life. But his jaw twitched—just a little—and that was enough.

I tilted my head. “Nate.”

He sighed, leaned back in the chair. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Why would something be wrong?”

“Because your vibe is weird,” I said bluntly. “You’re not even excited. You’re usually the first person to start gloating or calling for a celebratory milkshake.”

He ran a hand through his hair, slow and deliberate. “I’m processing.”

I arched a brow. “You’re lying.”

He finally turned...