Raindrops began to fall, sparse and heavy, tapping against the polished marble of the royal courtyard. Cold air swept in from the northern mountains, carrying the bitter scent of ozone and wet stone. Standing by the edge of the fountain, my chest still heaved with the leftover adrenaline from our argument. Luke stood just a few feet away, his golden hair plastered to his forehead, his blue eyes searching mine with an intensity that made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Throwing those cards into the water had felt like tearing out a piece of my own soul, but survival in the Penance Wing taught you one thing: never accept gifts from the people who put you in the gutter. "We are done here, Luke," I muttered, turning my back on him. My boots clicked against the wet stone as I took a step away, desperately needing to put distance between us before my resolve crumbled entirely. Why did he have to look at me like that? How could someone so pristine, so utterly untouched by the dirt of the world, make me feel like I was the one who was breaking? Suddenly, a sharp, mechanical click cut through the sound of the falling rain. Danger flared in my chest like a splash of hot acid. Years of dodging back-alley shivs and crooked guards in the slums had wired my body to react before my brain could even process the threat. Looking up, my eyes caught a flash of silver on the eastern balcony. High above us, a dark figure crouched near the stone balustrade, the long, heavy barrel of a mechanical crossbow aimed directly at Luke’s back. "Get down!" I screamed, my voice tearing raw against the wind. Luke didn't move fast enough. His perfect, golden face turned toward me, confusion clouding his eyes as he parted his lips to speak. Instinct took over, violent and absolute. My feet kicked off the slick marble tiles, launching my body forward before I could think about the sheer, suicidal stupidity of what I was doing. Why was I moving? Throwing myself into the path of death for a boy who represented everything I was supposed to hate made absolutely no sense. Air rushed past my ears, cold and biting. Colliding with Luke's chest felt like hitting solid iron, the force of my leap sending us both crashing hard onto the wet stone floor. Sharp, deafening whistle sliced through the air a millisecond later. Pain exploded in my left shoulder. It wasn't a dull ache or a stinging scratch; it was a white-hot spike of agony that drove straight through my flesh, grinding hard against bone. My breath caught in my throat, trapped by a sudden, suffocating pressure. Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision, thick and heavy, threatening to drag me under. "Evan!" Luke’s voice sounded miles away, muffled by the roaring in my ears. Lying on the freezing marble, I clutched my shoulder, my fingers instantly sinking into something thick, warm, and wet. Gasping for air, I forced my eyes open and looked down. Crimson blood was spilling rapidly across my torn shirt, but it wasn't the deep red of a normal human. Gold-flecked particles swirled within the dark liquid, catching the neon glow of the Penance Wing rising from the valley below. My mother's cursed royal legacy, pouring out of me onto the pristine stones of the golden sector. How could I have been so incredibly stupid? Sacrificing myself for a golden heir went against every single rule of survival I had ever learned. "No, no, no," Luke panicked, his voice cracking as he scrambled toward me on his knees. Gathering me into his arms, he lifted my upper body, cradling my head against his chest. His hands were shaking violently as he pressed them over my shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me, Evan. Look at me. Keep your eyes on my face!" Tears of pure terror welled in his bright blue eyes, spilling over his cheeks and mixing with the rain on his skin. His touch was incredibly warm, a sharp contrast to the freezing downpour that was now drenching us both. "Why did you do that?" he whispered, his chest heaving as he sobbed. "You idiot, why did you jump in front of it?" Gritting my teeth, I tried to push him away, but my left arm was entirely useless, heavy as lead. "Didn't... didn't want you to get dirt on your pretty face," I wheezed, the lie tasting like ash. Truth was far more terrifying: the thought of him dying made my chest ache worse than the bolt in my shoulder. Seeing his light put out would have destroyed me. "Shut up," Luke choked out, pressing his palm harder against the wound. I screamed, my back arching off the marble as a fresh wave of agony ripped through my body. "Don't speak. Just breathe. I’ve got you, Evan. I swear I’ve got you." Looking up at him, I saw an expression I had never seen on a golden heir before. Raw, unfiltered devastation. This wasn't the arrogant prince who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. This was a boy completely unraveled by the fear of losing me, his perfect facade shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. Another sharp click echoed from the balcony above. My heart seized. Looking up through the rain, I saw the assassin reloading, the heavy crank of the crossbow turning with agonizing slowness. "Luke," I gasped, my fingers clawing at his wet jacket. "He's still there. He's going to shoot again." Terrifying change came over Luke's face. Slowly, his jaw clenched, the muscles tightening until his expression looked like carved marble. His eyes, usually so bright and warm, turned icy cold, reflecting a quiet, lethal fury. "Stay down," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that made my skin prickle. Gently laying me back onto the stone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, metallic sphere. Throwing it toward the balcony, he triggered a blinding flash of pure white light that illuminated the entire courtyard. Sharp cry of pain echoed from the rafters. Blinded by the flare, the assassin stumbled backward, his boots scraping against the stone. Luke didn't waste a single second. Sprinting toward the stone pillars, he leaped onto the railing with effortless grace, scaling the wall like a shadow in the night. "Luke, wait!" I tried to shout, but the words died in my throat, turning into a wet cough. Copper filled my mouth, and I slumped back against the base of the fountain, shivering violently. Rain pelted my face, washing away the sweat and blood, but the cold was beginning to seep deep into my bones. My mind raced through the haze of pain. Security in the golden sector was supposed to be impenetrable, guarded by the most advanced magical wards in Paragon. How did an assassin get in here? Unless someone on the inside had opened the gates. High above, the sound of metal clashing against metal rang out, followed by a grunt of pain and a heavy crash. Luke was up there, fighting a killer, while I lay uselessly on the ground, bleeding out. Struggling to sit up, I gripped the edge of the fountain, my knuckles turning white as I forced my body to move. Dizziness hit me like a physical blow, making the world spin violently. "Get up, Heart," I muttered, my teeth chattering. Drag-stepping my way toward the stairs, I held my bleeding shoulder, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Every movement felt like a hot iron was being twisted in my flesh. Above me, the sounds of the struggle grew more frantic, followed by the sudden noise of heavy boots sprinting away into the dark gardens. "Luke!" I called out, my voice cracking under the strain. No answer came, only the steady, rhythmic splashing of the rain. Reaching the top of the stairs, I leaned heavily against the stone balustrade, my chest heaving as I looked around. Luke was standing near the edge of the terrace, his shoulders slumped as he stared into the dark woods below. His clothes were torn, stained with dirt and my gold-flecked blood, his hair dripping wet. "He got away," Luke said, his voice hollow and tight with frustration as he turned around. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me standing there. "What are you doing? You should be lying down!" Sprinting back to my side, he caught me just as my legs finally gave out. His strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my shivering body tight against his chest. "I'm fine," I mumbled, though my head was spinning so fast I could barely see his face. "You're not fine, Evan. You're losing too much blood." Gently, he lowered us both to the stone floor, his hands hovering over my shoulder with a tenderness that made my heart ache. "Why did you do it?" he whispered, his eyes searching mine, filled with a desperate need for answers. "I told you," I said, my throat dry. "You saved my life." "Don't get used to it." "It doesn't make sense," Luke insisted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You hate me. You've pushed me away at every turn. Why risk your life for me?" Looking into his eyes, I saw the raw vulnerability he usually kept hidden behind his perfect smiles. It was terrifying. Fighting him when he was just the arrogant prince of Paragon had been so much easier. But like this, drenched in rain and bleeding for me, he was the most dangerous thing I had ever encountered. "Maybe I don't hate you as much as I want to," I confessed softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Luke froze, his breath hitching. Slowly, his gaze drifted down to my lips, his hand sliding up to gently cup the side of my neck. His thumb was warm against my jaw, wiping away a stray drop of rain. For a brief second, the pain in my shoulder faded into the background, replaced by the electric spark of his closeness. We were inches apart, our breath mingling in the cold night air, the tension between us stretching until it was ready to snap. "Evan..." he murmured, leaning in. Before our lips could meet, my foot brushed against something hard and metallic on the stone floor, making a sharp clinking sound. Frowning, I pulled back slightly, my eyes dropping to the wet stone between us. Lying in a puddle of water, partially hidden by a fallen leaf, was a small, polished silver object. "What's that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Luke followed my gaze, his brow furrowing as he reached down to pick it up. Wiping the rainwater off the metal, he held it up to the light of the distant neon signs. Instantly, his face went completely pale, all the color draining from his lips. "What is it?" I demanded, a cold dread settling in my stomach. Luke's fingers trembled, his grip tightening around the metal until his knuckles turned white. "It can't be," he whispered, his voice cracking with horror. "Luke, talk to me. Who does that belong to?" Looking up at me, his eyes were filled with a sudden, devastating realization that chilled me to the bone. "This is the official crest of the High Council's elite guard," Luke said, his voice trembling. "The assassin... was one of our own."

Chapter 10: A Split-Second Solace