"I've got to hand it to you," Vance murmured, stepping back just slightly, though their gazes stayed locked like drawn blades. "You've managed more rejections in five minutes than most people choke out in a lifetime before me. Either you're too stupid to notice what you're pushing away—or just too hollow to hold onto anything that matters."

Askai released a long breath he didn't realize he was holding onto, wondering whether people were really that scared of a few punches or demotions, that they wagged their tail at every one of their commands. Then he recalled the efforts that had gone into the utterance of his last few words and developed a begrudging sympathy toward anyone who has had to bear Vance's presence in his daily life. 

He glanced toward the door, wondering if it would be the right moment to excuse himself. Vance would also be in the habit of having the last word. God forbid he break another rule today.

He took a step. Vance didn't stop him.

In fact, he stepped aside, even gestured toward the exit with a mockingly gracious tilt of his head. "Go on," he said lightly.

But the smile that followed was wrong. Crooked. Not cruel, not quite — just unreadable in a way that set Askai's nerves back on edge.

Still, Askai made for the door. One step, then another. He was almost at the frame when Vance's voice cut in again — low and deliberate.

"You know, the day I saw you… in that wrinkled sweater and those cheap knockoff shoes, I assumed you were our charity case."

The way his voice dripped with disgust at the mention of the word charity, it reminded Askai of his very reasons for loathing these Elites. The almighty hoity-toities who treated all beneath them as the weeds in their beautiful gardens. 

He was about to step out the door, to let Vance rejoice in his own hatred of the commons when his words finally sank in.

Askai stopped.

Vance's voice didn't rise. If anything, it softened, laced with amusement that didn't reach his eyes. "Imagine my surprise when I looked into your file and found out your tuition's been paid in full. For years. No installments. No grants. Every semester—handled."

The room fell into a hush, the kind that came just before a downpour.

Askai didn't turn around. Not yet. He stood still, letting the weight of those words settle. He could feel Vance's gaze boring into his back, waiting — not for an answer, maybe, but a reaction.

He finally spoke—his voice flat. "So what?"

The room seemed to tilt a little with the silence that followed.

Then Vance stepped forward again, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling prey—not in a rush, but certain of the outcome. The bastard was enjoying it.

"So what?" Vance echoed, almost fondly. "Your file says you're an orphan."

Askai's spine went rigid.

"Home address traces back to a slum outside Old Town in Middle Nolan. A run-down corner stall in the name of a man who's never heard of you. You graduated from a government school where half the staff isn't sure if you ever existed."

Now Askai did turn.

His mouth was dry. "This is my personal life, Vance. You have no right to dig into it."

Vance didn't answer. He just tilted his head, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. It probably was. He was undoubtedly used to getting his way like most of those Elites. And who was ever insane enough to question their means?

Askai relented. "What do you want?" 

 Vance stared into his soul, with those cold grey eyes of his. "Who are you, Askai?"

The question wasn't just a taunt. It was a blow. Askai felt it in his knees, in his chest. The floor beneath him felt suddenly foreign. Unreliable.

"Why do you even want to know that?" Askai began, voice barely steady, "I am just a nobody."

Vance only smiled again—too calm, too pleased with himself. "I doubt that. But if you continue to insist, I can find out exactly who the 'nobody' is."

Vance stared down at him, taking a pause for emphasis. "See there's a reason people don't say No to me, Askai. I despise the word."

Despite the quiet hum of the air conditioning, a sheen of sweat began to gather at the nape of Askai's neck. He brushed his palms against the rough denim of his jeans, the gesture casual—almost—but not quite concealing the tension rippling beneath his skin. Whatever Vance had uncovered, whatever breadcrumbs he'd followed into the shadowed corners of Askai's past, it was enough to shake the very fulcrum of his life. The one he had so painstakingly built for himself.

He paused, and then, he scoffed. Because if he didn't, he'd fold.

"What do you want from me?" Askai asked, voice clipped now, defensive.

Vance met his gaze without blinking, his hand again reaching out to caress him, but he snuck them into his pocket. 

"Stick around," he said. "Until I figure it out."

Then, as if that was the most natural answer in the world, he pulled the glass door open.

Two men stood waiting just outside. Both wore black suits, their gazes locked forward like statues carved for intimidation. Neither looked at Askai but he felt watched, all the same.

The hallway behind them led to sunlight. Blinding, golden, and lined by men, no more forgiving than the man behind him. Askai stepped past them. The men didn't flinch, didn't nod. Just stood like gates that had briefly opened.

The sun beat down, but Askai didn't feel it. He ran. All the way back to his dorm, his shirt still damp, his chest still tight.

The sun still shone the same—but everything had changed.