Dust tasted like copper on Evan’s tongue as he turned the heavy, yellowed page. Underneath the flickering blue light of his glowing card, the ink looked almost purple. His eyes scanned down the columns of names, each one written in a neat, clinical hand that made his stomach twist. Every letter was a testament to the cold bureaucracy of the High Council. Luke stood so close their shoulders brushed, his warm breath fanning across Evan’s neck. "Is that...?" Luke whispered, his voice cracking slightly in the damp chill of the archive. Evan didn't answer. His gaze was locked on a single entry near the bottom of the page. Letters seemed to burn straight through his retinas. *Heart, Victoria. Case File: 099-Red.* Right next to her name, written in bold, unfeeling red ink, was her designated status: *Core Siphon Source 01.* Below that, a chilling log detailed the exact dates of her extractions. Each entry recorded a volume of magic taken, measured in fluid ounces of raw, condensed essence. They hadn't just exiled her. Siphons had drained her card magic, drop by drop, using her volatile bloodline to power the shimmering streetlamps and golden barriers of the upper wards. Shimmering lights that shone so brightly over the golden spires were fueled by his mother's agonizing slow death. Evan felt the room tilt. His hands began to shake, the paper rustling violently beneath his fingertips. "Evan?" Luke’s voice sounded muffled, as if he were speaking from underwater. Cold sweat broke out across Evan's forehead, freezing him to the bone. Heavy walls of the archive seemed to press inward, suffocating him. His chest tightened, a heavy weight pressing down on his lungs until he couldn't draw in a single breath. She was gone because they had eaten her alive. Golden heirs of Paragon walked on streets paved with his mother’s stolen life force. He had spent his entire life hating her for abandoning him, only to find out she had been tortured to keep his enemies warm. "Hey, look at me," Luke urged, grabbing Evan's shoulder. Evan jerked away, his movement wild and uncoordinated. A spark of hot, crimson light flared from his fingertips. Instantly, a dozen glowing cards materialized in the air around him, spinning like circular saws. They hummed with a dangerous, unstable frequency that vibrated through the stone floor. "Get back!" Evan choked out, his voice a raw rasp. He couldn't breathe. Air wouldn't go down his throat, and his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped beast. Dark, suffocating red edges crept into his vision, blurring the world. Red cards spun faster, their sharp edges slicing through the air, nicking the heavy wooden shelves. Splinters rained down like wooden shrapnel. Dust swirled in the sudden, violent wind kicked up by his magic. "Evan, please," Luke begged, his eyes wide with concern. "You have to breathe." "I said stay away!" Evan screamed. His magic flared in response to his panic. A wave of sharp, crystalline Spades and Hearts shot outward in a chaotic ring. They sliced through the ancient leather books, sending shredded paper flying through the air like a snowstorm of dead words. Heavy oak tables were gouged with deep, splintered scars. One of the cards whipped past Luke's face, leaving a thin, red line of blood across his cheek. Luke didn't flinch. He didn't draw his own magic to defend himself. Instead, he took another step directly into the storm of razor-sharp cards. His golden eyes were locked onto Evan’s terrified face, filled with a desperate, unyielding resolve. "Don't touch me!" Evan sobbed, the tears finally spilling over his lashes. Drowning in his own skin, he gasped for air. Every memory of abandonment, every cold night in the Penance Wing, and the horrifying image of his mother trapped in a glass tube screamed in his mind. He was a monster. A dangerous weapon, just like they always said, he was going to destroy everything in his path. Sharp cards sliced outward again, cutting deep into Luke’s forearm as he reached out. Bright, crimson blood soaked through Luke's pristine white sleeve. It dripped onto the stone floor, a stark, horrifying contrast to the golden light of the archives. Yet, the golden boy didn't stop. With a sudden, desperate lunge, Luke threw his arms around Evan’s shaking frame. He pulled Evan flush against his chest, locking his arms around him in a vice grip. "Let go! I'll kill you!" Evan shrieked, thrashing violently against the embrace. Spinning cards battered against Luke's back and shoulders. Sharp edges tore through fabric, slicing into skin, but Luke only held on tighter. He buried his face in the crook of Evan’s neck, his body absorbing the brunt of the magical onslaught. "I'm not letting go," Luke whispered against his skin, his voice thick with pain but fiercely steady. "You're going to bleed to death, you idiot!" Evan cried out, his voice cracking. He tried to pull back, but Luke anchored him in place. "Let me take it," Luke murmured. "Just give it to me, Evan. Let it out." Slowly, the sheer warmth of Luke's body began to penetrate the icy terror gripping Evan's chest. Scent of cedarwood, rain, and the metallic tang of blood filled his senses. He could feel the rapid, steady beat of Luke's heart pressing directly against his own. It was a rhythm he could latch onto. With every heavy thud of Luke's heart, the frantic spinning of the cards began to slow. Razor-sharp edges dissolved into harmless red mist, sinking back into Evan’s skin. His breathing, once a series of ragged gasps, began to mirror Luke's deep, measured inhales. Storm in the small archive room finally died down, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing. Evan slumped against Luke's chest, his strength entirely spent. His hands, which had been clenched into tight fists, now clung desperately to the fabric of Luke's torn, bloody shirt. He felt the wet warmth of Luke’s blood soaking into his own shirt. "Why?" Evan whispered, his forehead resting against Luke's collarbone. "Why would you do that? You could have died." Luke pulled back just enough to look Evan in the eye. His face was pale, his cheek dripping with blood, but his golden eyes were filled with an intensity that made Evan’s heart stop. "Because I couldn't bear to see you break," Luke said softly. He reached up, his blood-stained fingers gently cupping Evan’s jaw. Touch was warm, impossibly tender, and entirely devoid of the fear Evan had spent his whole life expecting from others. "I care about you, Evan. More than my own safety. More than the council. More than anything." Words hit Evan like a physical blow. His carefully constructed walls, built over years of neglect and survival in the slums, crumbled into dust. He had spent his entire life believing that love was a transaction, a trap, or a lie. But looking at the blood on Luke’s sleeve, looking at the raw sincerity in his eyes, Evan knew. This wasn't a game. Golden, perfect, this prince loved him. And God help him, Evan loved him back. It was a terrifying, beautiful realization that left him completely exposed. "You're an idiot," Evan whispered, but his voice lacked any real bite. He leaned into the touch of Luke's hand, closing his eyes. "Maybe," Luke murmured, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I'm your idiot." Before Evan could respond, a low, mechanical hum vibrated through the stone floor beneath their feet. Glowing blue light of Evan's card sputtered and died. A harsh, grating sound ripped through the silence of the basement. The alarm sirens wail, and the archive doors are sealed shut by a wall of solid gold light magic.

Chapter 15: The Price of Light