The doors opened before the noise fully reached him.
It came in waves after that first the sharp burst of camera shutters, then voices layered over each other, then the low hum of bodies shifting forward, adjusting, claiming space. The room was bright in a way that flattened everything, the kind of lighting that erased shadows and made every movement visible.
Dayo stepped in like he had done this a hundred times.
Because he had.
Sharon moved slightly ahead of him, already carving a path, already signaling where he should sit. Jeffrey stayed close, shoulders loose, eyes scanning everything with that mix of excitement and awareness he hadn't quite learned to hide yet.
Names were called.
"Dayo!"
"Over here—just one—"
"Can we get a shot—"
He didn't respond to any of it directly. He let it pass over him, kept moving, kept his expression neutral but not cold. There was a rhythm to this. A way of entering without giving too much before it started.
He reached the table.
