Cold vapor hissed from the high brass vents, stinging Evan's eyes and throat with the sharp, clinical scent of ozone.
Lungs burning, he clawed at the collar of his shirt, desperate to draw a clean breath.
Beside him, the brilliant, golden glow of Luke's solar magic flickered like a dying candle, then sputtered out completely.
"My light," Luke choked out, clutching his chest as he stumbled against the rough stone wall.
Heavy, oppressive silence rushed in to replace the humming energy of the chamber, thick and suffocating.
Evan reached deep inside his chest, trying to pull a single card of fire from his internal deck to blast the hinges off the door.
Nothing answered.
Only a dull, leaden ache settled deep in his bones, dragging his shoulders down as if his blood had turned to liquid iron.
"It's a suppression field," Evan spat, coughing violently as the white fog rolled over his boots in thick, heavy waves.
This wasn't just a simple security measure; it was a death trap designed to neutralize and suffocate any magic user foolish enough to trespass.
"We need to get out of here," Luke said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, strained quiet that lacked any of his usual breezy confidence.
He took a step forward, but his knees buckled, sending him sliding down the damp masonry.
"No kidding, princess," Evan muttered, dragging his sleeve across his watering eyes as he forced himself toward the massive exit.
Solid steel blocks blocked their only escape, sealed by a complex, mechanical lock that looked older than the castle itself.
Without their magic, they were stripped of their titles, their power, and their defense, reduced to two desperate boys trapped in a shrinking pocket of air.
White mist crawled up the walls, eating away at the dim luminescent crystals that lined the ceiling.
Every breath felt like inhaling liquid ice, freezing the throat and making the ribs ache with every desperate expansion.
Evan forced his trembling legs to carry him to the face of the great door, his knees scraping against the gritty stone floor as he collapsed before the keyhole.
Street rats in the Penance Wing didn't survive to see seventeen by relying solely on magical gifts; they survived because they knew how to use their hands when the power ran dry.
Evan's mind flashed to his childhood, to the freezing cellars where he had learned to manipulate pins with a bent wire while his mother’s voice echoed in his head, telling him that cards were a gentleman's tool, but lockpicks were a survivor's weapon.
He reached into his collar, tugging hard at a thin silver chain hidden beneath his shirt.
Strung on the metal loop weren't jewels or family heirlooms, but three bent pieces of tempered steel he had stolen from a palace blacksmith years ago.
"What are you doing?" Luke wheezed, leaning heavily against the vault door, his golden skin turning a sickly shade of ash.
"Saving our royal asses," Evan growled, slipping the makeshift tension wrench into the narrow keyway.
His fingers were already losing sensation, the freezing gas numbing his joints and making his movements clumsy.
"That is... that is a lockpick," Luke observed, his breathing growing shallower as he watched Evan work.
"Gold star for the prince of Paragon," Evan muttered, feeling the first tumbler with the tip of his pick.
Click.
One pin set, but the lock was a masterwork of security, containing at least six complex chambers that required absolute precision.
Fog swirled around his knees, climbing higher, wrapping around his torso like a freezing, damp blanket.
"I can't... I can't catch my breath," Luke whispered, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to remain conscious.
Luke slid down the wall until he sat directly behind Evan, his broad shoulders slumping against Evan's back.
His usual immaculate, sun-kissed hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in messy clumps.
"Stay awake, you idiot," Evan ordered, his voice cracking with a sudden, sharp spike of panic.
He pushed the metal pick deeper into the cold brass cylinder, searching for the second pin.
Metal scraped against metal, but his numb fingers couldn't feel the delicate feedback of the spring.
"Dammit," he hissed, his grip slipping as a violent shiver racked his body.
Tension wrench popped out of the keyhole, clattering against the stone floor in the dark.
Panic threatened to choke him faster than the gas, tight and hot in his chest.
He couldn't feel his fingertips anymore, and the darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision.
"Let me help," Luke whispered.
Warm hands suddenly covered Evan’s freezing fingers, shocking his system with a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat.
Even weakened by the suppression field, Luke’s skin felt like a summer hearth against Evan's frozen flesh.
"You're shaking too hard," Luke murmured, his breath hot and ragged against the shell of Evan's ear.
He guided Evan’s hand back to the floor, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around Evan's smaller ones to find the fallen wrench.
"Get off me," Evan rasped, though he didn't pull away because he literally couldn't find the strength to do so.
He needed the heat.
Warmth from Luke’s chest pressed flush against his back, radiating through his thin shirt and melting the ice in his veins.
"I've got you," Luke whispered, his voice trembling but laced with a fierce, quiet determination.
"Just focus on the pins."
Luke squeezed Evan's hands, anchoring them against the lock, absorbing the tremors that threatened to ruin their only chance.
Evan swallowed hard, his heart racing not from the poison, but from the sudden, terrifying proximity of the prince.
This close, he could smell Luke—the scent of rain, crushed pine needles, and a clean, golden warmth that didn't belong in this dark underworld.
It was a dangerous distraction, a crack in the high, bitter walls Evan had spent his entire life building to keep the world out.
"Stop talking," Evan whispered, his focus narrowing back to the keyhole as the heat of Luke's hands brought life back to his fingers.
With Luke holding his wrists steady, the numbness receded just enough for him to feel the subtle resistance of the lock.
He slid the pick back into the keyway, feeling the metal slide over the pins.
Carefully, he applied tension, coordinating his movements with the steady, heavy rise and fall of Luke's chest against his back.
"Second pin," Evan muttered.
Click.
"Third."
Click.
Luke’s grip tightened slightly, his chin resting heavily on Evan's shoulder as his strength continued to fade.
Weight from the golden heir was solid, real, and terrifyingly intimate, forcing Evan to acknowledge the boy beneath the crown.
Evan had spent his whole life believing that the elites of Paragon were heartless monsters who deserved to be ruined.
Now, he was clinging to one of them just to stay alive, his skin burning where their bodies met.
"Almost there," Evan whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He pushed the pick further, feeling the fourth pin resist before giving way.
Click.
Only two left, but the gas was so thick now that he could barely see the outlines of his own hands.
"Evan," Luke murmured, his head slipping lower, his grip on Evan's wrists loosening as he slipped toward unconsciousness.
"Stay with me!" Evan yelled, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate emotion that terrified him.
He shoved the pick upward with a final, blind thrust, feeling for the last tumbler.
A loud, heavy clunk echoed through the chamber.
Cylinder turned with a satisfying, metallic snap.
Evan threw his entire weight against the heavy vault door, using every ounce of his remaining strength.
With a groaning screech, the massive metal slab swung outward, breaching the vacuum of the sealed room.
Cool, fresh corridor air rushed into the space, sweeping away the suffocating white fog in a violent gust.
Dragging Luke by the collar of his jacket, Evan hauled them both out of the chamber and onto the clean stone floor.
They collapsed side by side, chests heaving as they drew deep, greedy breaths of the oxygen-rich air.
Luke coughed violently, his body shaking as his lungs cleared the last traces of the suppression gas.
"We're out," Luke wheezed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the vaulted ceiling of the hallway.
"We're actually alive."
Evan sat up, his hands still tingling from the electric warmth of Luke's touch.
He looked down at his palms, feeling a sudden, violent surge of exposure and vulnerability.
He had let the golden boy in.
Allowing himself to rely on someone else, let alone a prince of Paragon, felt like a dangerous crack in his armor.
It was a weakness he couldn't afford, a betrayal of the survival instincts that had kept him alive in the slums.
"Don't touch me again," Evan snapped, his voice harsh and cold to mask the tremor in his chest.
He stood up quickly, brushing the dust from his trousers as if he could erase the physical memory of Luke's body pressed against his.
Luke looked up, a flash of genuine hurt crossing his expressive features before he masked it with a tired, weary sigh.
"I was only trying to keep you steady, Evan."
"I don't need your help, and I don't need you," Evan spat, turning his back on the prince to hide his flushed face.
He needed distance, a cold wall of animosity to protect himself from the strange, terrifying heat that Luke stirred inside him.
But as he took a step forward into the dim light of the corridor, his boot brushed against something soft on the floor.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Leaning down, Evan slowly picked up the object resting directly in the center of their path.
His breath caught in his throat, his blood freezing instantly.
As they stumble out into the corridor, they find a single black rose left on the floor—the calling card of the Queen of Hearts.