Standing at the far end of the terrace, half silhouetted against the light bleeding through, stood the man. They wore a black hood, their face hidden beneath the shadows. Too large to be one of his father’s men. Too still to be a drunk party crasher.

“Who are you?” Jasper demanded, voice low, edged in a warning he didn’t quite believe himself.

The figure tilted their head slightly, almost curious, then raised a hand motioning him to follow, dropping what looked like another card in the process.

Before Jasper could move, they turned and slipped through a side access door he’d never noticed before, one that led deeper into the heart of the building. The door didn’t even slam behind them. Just a soft click, like an invitation.

Jasper walked toward the door, his eyes focusing on the card the man dropped. He crouched down and turned the card over. The King of Spades. What was with the theatrics?

He contemplated for a moment. Every instinct told him to turn back. To call security. To pretend he never saw any of this. But for the first time in a long time, something was happening outside of the life carefully choreographed for him.

So he followed.

The pristine marble gave way to industrial flooring, a reminder that even the highest towers had foundations, and Jasper’s steps slowed. The lights flickered above him, cheap fluorescents buzzing faintly. This part of the building wasn’t meant for guests. It wasn’t meant for anyone.

The figure now far ahead, turned a corner without a glance back, like they knew he’d follow. It almost felt like a game. He paused for what seemed like an eternity before moving again. His heart ticking, as if a clock was winding down. The silence felt sacred, like the breath before a leap. 

He cautiously rounded the corner, but no one was there. Just an empty hall, a broken down elevator, and a fire exit. The kind of exit no Sinclair would ever dream of using. 

He hurriedly walked toward it and placed his hand on the red emergency bar and pushed, it clicked open with what sounded like a yell, the stairwell echoing around him. The sudden drop in temperature, almost as if a ghost had been lingering on the other side, sent an unwanted shiver down his spine. He exhaled as he began to descend. He could hear his heart beating louder than the party now, but he couldn't turn back. 

With each step down the concrete spiral, the penthouse became more distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely. He moved quickly, descending floor by floor. His dress shoes echoed on the concrete steps, and the scent of dust and metal filled his lungs. The building creaked in small ways, like it was alive. For someone raised in quiet refinement, this felt like a scene out of a horror movie. 

As he reached the bottom, nearly out of breath, a door loomed below, unassuming, painted steel with a faded red sign. He pushed through it, the night air hitting like a slap. For a moment, Jasper just stood there far beneath the Sinclair Penthouse, the darkness swallowing him whole. No cameras. No watchful eyes. No father. Just silence. He felt his pulse slow. A breath slipped out of him, long and ragged. Finally, reality pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked around. 

He was in an alley.

It was dim and it smelled like wet asphalt, oil, and the sour tang of rotting food. Yet, the city looming ahead smeared with neon promise.

Still clenching onto both cards, Jasper glanced around, looking for the man he followed down a rabbit hole, but there was no one. He shoved the cards into his pocket, half expecting the ground to collapse beneath him from the sheer absurdity of the situation. He’d really just followed a strange man down multiple flights of stairs, into an alley with no security detail, and no protection. What was he thinking? 

That was the thing, he wasn’t thinking.

It had been longer than ten minutes since the speech began and he knew his father was probably fuming. He could play it off as if he wasn’t feeling well to appease his father’s temper. Then everything would go back to the way it was. His thoughts lingered on the cards burning cold in his pocket. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about this.

“Nice going, Jasper.” He whispered to himself as he grabbed the handle to the entrance back. He jerked it with enough pressure but the handle wouldn’t move. “Oh, great.” It was locked. The first plan wasn’t going to work. He’d be all over the camera footage, shamefully making his way back to the penthouse after following a whim. 

Then the world shifted.

A hand shot out from the darkness and clamped around his wrist like a vice.

“What the-?”

Before he could finish the sentence, his back hit cold brick, the force jarring the breath from his lungs. He barely had time to react before an arm pressed across his collarbone, firm, unyielding, and meant to keep him in place.

Though most of his face was hidden beneath hood and shadow, the figure stood close enough now to reveal part of his face. He was clean shaven with a sharp jawline, lips full and relaxed, the corners faintly upturned as if he found the situation mildly amusing. There was no strain, no anger. Just quiet control, unsettling in its ease.

They stayed locked in place for a beat too long, tension thick in the space between them. The heavy stillness of being dissected, measured, and weighed had fear crawling up the back of his neck and panic exploding in his chest. 

“Let go of me!” Jasper snarled. He struggled beneath the towering figure but it was useless. The man, in one fluid, brutal motion, twisted his arm, facing Jasper to the brick wall. His breath hitched as his chest pressed against it, the rough edges scraping through his shirt. He tried to move, to push him off, but the man’s body was a solid weight behind him, one forearm braced across the back of his shoulders, the other clamping his wrist.

And then a voice, low and unhurried, rumbled next to his ear. “Don’t fight.” The scent of smoke clung to him, sharp and close. Jasper’s pulse hammered in his throat, his free hand curling uselessly against the wall.

“Get off..." he muttered, the words muffled by stone. He bucked, but the man didn’t budge. Whoever this was, they were strong enough to immobilize him completely. The thought chilled him deeper than the alley’s wind. He tried shouting again, but the hand once gripping his wrist was now covering his mouth, silencing him.

“Quiet, little prince,” he said calmly.

Jasper’s heart thundered. He bucked again, wild now, desperate, but the hold only tightened. He tried to scream, and that’s when he felt the sting, something sharp jabbed into the side of his neck. The man had uncovered his mouth and he hadn’t even noticed.

Warmth spread immediately. Too fast. His limbs grew heavy. The thud of his own heartbeat louder than the man’s voice. His vision, now hazy, could only focus on the words coming from behind him. 

“Don’t worry,” the voice said, distant now, like underwater. “You’ll wake up. Eventually.”

No. No, no, no…

His knees buckled and he went limp. The alley lights blurred into a smear of gold and black.

Jasper’s last thought before the darkness took him was of the skyline. How it glittered like stars trapped in glass and how he’d never hated the view more than he did right now.