Morning broke, gray and slow, filtering through the narrow slits in the blinds. Askai stirred first, blinking away the low, bone-deep ache in his spine from the half-sleep he'd managed. Jordan was already sitting up, rubbing his face with a guttural grunt, the residue of last night's raw tension still clinging to him.

Askai swung his legs off the bed, the cheap mattress groaning beneath him. "I'm coming with you to Coral's."

Jordan shook his head, a weary dismissal. "No need. After last night, even Coral would've sobered up. Night Queen is gone. The words travel fast. And I have the money. What could he possibly hold against me now that he doesn't already?"

Askai frowned, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease, but he didn't push it. Moraine Valez had been a cancer in Jordan's life ever since that deal went south—a persistent, vicious bully. It had only been the formidable shadow of Uncle Tommie that had kept him leashed, but even a leashed animal manages to chew the scenery, making Jordan's every move hell.

"Just don't walk into a trap, Jordan," Askai warned, his voice low and serious. "If you smell something funny down there—if the air tastes wrong—know that I have your back. Call me." He emphasized the last two words like a command, a promise of swift retribution.

Jordan nodded, a genuine, slightly tired smile cracking his guarded expression. "I am sorry, Brother. Didn't want to drag you back in this horseshit again. I want you to know it."

"Beat it." Askai cut him off, grabbing his towel from the chair. He was headed toward the tiny, cramped bathroom when his phone buzzed, vibrating a frantic plea against his thigh. He pulled it out, staring at the screen. It was a new text. He sighed—Vance, again. The sheer persistence of the heir was exhausting.

"What now?" Jordan asked, already pulling on a fresh, faded t-shirt.

Askai read the message, his tone tightening with irritation. "He's calling again. Wants something. Probably another game, another charity spectacle. I don't know with this guy anymore. He treats time like a commodity he can just buy off the shelf."

Jordan stretched, wincing as his muscles protested. "Let it go for now. He will find someone else to bother soon enough. Give me some time, and I will look into him." He paused, then added with a sudden softening, his frown shifting from worry to tenderness. "I got a call from Kael's teacher at the orphanage. She said we should drop by today. Said Kael's been asking about us. She had called me in the past, but I just couldn't find the time to go. "

Askai looked up, the mention of the boy instantly dissolving some of the hard, defensive tension in his frame. "Let's go together this evening, then. I'll finish my day by four."

Jordan nodded, already rising to dress, his focus momentarily pulled back to the one true piece of light in their chaotic lives. "Yeah. Let's do that."

**

Askai walked through the cold, imposing stone archway of Nolan University's East Wing. The cold, indifferent elegance of the Elite Lounge's marble floor bit through the thin soles of his worn, utilitarian shoes. The corridors buzzed faintly with the morning chatter of the privileged and the clacking heels of those who served them, while sunlight poured through the high, arched windows like liquid gold.

He had barely thirty minutes before his first class—and his stomach gnawed in fierce protest, reminding him that he had forgotten breakfast again. A stop at the general canteen would have made pragmatic sense. But Vance's texts had been relentless, a series of increasingly demanding directives.

So here he was. Again.

The double glass doors of the Lounge whispered open as he pushed inside, an automatic, silent welcome that felt deeply ironic.

It was like stepping into another, more rarefied world—soft, heavy leather chairs, highly polished dark wood tables, the faint, intoxicating scent of ridiculously expensive coffee hanging in the air. 

Every occupant wore their wealth like a second skin. And at the center of it all, like gravity itself, sat Vance.

He was lounging casually at the head of the long table, dressed in soft grey with tailored precision, his expression as unreadable as a sealed vault. To his right sat Steven—arms folded, his lips curled into a familiar sneer—and to his left, Ruby, who was scrolling idly through something on a crystal-encased phone. A few other non-entities flanked the corners, laughing softly, murmuring things that sounded like abstract art, insider politics, and unfathomable sums of money.

Askai had only taken one step in when Vance looked up and, without uttering a single word, gestured for him to come over.

Then, silently, Vance nudged his fingers toward Steven—an elegant, almost lazy gesture—and Steve's jaw visibly clenched. He rose instantly, moving without protest, but definitely not without venom. The look he shot Askai as he passed was pure, unadulterated bile. It was a promise of pain, delayed but not forgotten.

Askai didn't blink, but the warning planted itself in his gut like a cold seed. Steven wasn't just irritated; he was meticulously calculating. It wouldn't be long before he became a real, tangible problem.

Askai momentarily dismissed the threat. He wouldn't dare touch me as long as I'm in Vance's orbit, he decided. And once I'm out? I'll take care of Steven in some dark alley where his tailor-made suit will make the blood look that much brighter. The dark thought, shockingly, almost made his day.

He slid into the empty seat beside Vance, angling a challenging brow at his host. Vance didn't so much as glance back—just continued sipping from a porcelain mug, his face a flawless, irritating wall.

This was better than the Foundation Event where Vance had completely ignored his existence, a little better than the Sports Event where he had at least acknowledged him. Today, he sat at his side just opposite Ruby and none in their vicinity even hoped to sneer at him.

They were as much in awe of his presence as they were of Vance, almost treating him as an extension of him.

Some strange feelings did a little dance in his stomach and Askai devoutly ignored them. He had absolutely no business in keeping track of Vance's reactions to him or how openly he acknowledged him as one of his own. He often forgot these days that he was being forced to bear his company, not actively seeking it.