Ethan didn’t even look at them as they shook. He turned to the board, and for the first time, the room really watched him—his posture, his breathing, that focused gaze. This wasn’t a child playing.
This was someone working.
He began to write.
At first, the men smiled, expecting nonsense. But the symbols weren’t random. There was structure. Method. Ethan moved quickly, without hesitation, as if the solution already existed fully formed in his mind and his hand was simply translating it.
The laughter faded—one voice at a time—like lights shutting off in a building at night.
The only sound left was the marker against the board.
Shh. Shh. Shh.
Even Richard stopped moving.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
The board filled like a map—branches of calculations, corrections, arrows, clarity carved out of complexity.
Laura felt a lump rise in her throat. She knew enough to understand: this wasn’t an act.
Richard slowly stood. His smile was gone.
“Is he… actually calculating?” someone whispered.
Ethan kept going. When he finished, he stepped back, examined the board like an artist reviewing his work, then circled a number in the lower corner.