Vance finally turned, one perfect brow arching in challenge. "And yet it is."
He started walking again, fully expecting Askai to follow, the unquestioned authority of his wealth heavy in the air.
Askai hesitated—then followed, the familiar, angry prickle rising up his arms. His steps were loud, rebellious echoes behind Vance's soft, measured ones.
His day had started with a beating- not received, duly bestowed, a baseball bat, and the smell of cheap disinfectant. He was absolutely sure this part of it would go no easier.
They entered the suite and this time he noticed the individual, state-of-the-art screens that glowed softly in front of them, and studio-quality headphones on the table. Vance tossed one of them to Askai. Askai, preferring to maintain a physical distance, had chosen the deep leather couch for himself, while Vance had settled behind the intimidating expanse of his polished mahogany desk piled with files and folders.
He selected one at random and began flipping through its pages, unhurried, as though Askai were merely another item on an agenda he could return to later.
At this point, Askai wasn't even surprised.
"What are you doing here, Vance?" he asked finally, breaking the heavy stillness. "In this university—pretending to be one of us—when you clearly aren't."
Vance glanced up just long enough to acknowledge him, steel-grey eyes assessing, then shrugged faintly. "Just what Regales do."
He went back to the file but it wasn't enough.
"And what exactly do Regales do?"
This time, Vance didn't bother looking up.
"Things you're too innocent to understand, boy."
Askai almost laughed.
Innocent. The word rang hollow in his ears. This 'boy' had gutted a man less than twenty-four hours ago for laying hands on someone he cared about.]
"Humor me," Askai said instead, voice deceptively calm. "It's only fair I know something about you—considering you claim to know everything about me."
Vance paused mid-page. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his gaze. One brow arched—not in offense, but amusement.
"Do I?" he asked lightly.
Askai straightened at the answer, the subtle challenge in it drawing a faint smile to Vance's lips.
"I thought we had a deal," Askai reminded him. "You stop digging if I just listen."
"And I keep my word," Vance replied, clipped now. "As for your answer—Regales protect the business empires of the East. We defend the foundations of our existence." He closed the file with a soft, final thud. "The Glass Wall," he continued. "That thin, metaphorical line between order and decay. Between the East and the West. We invest in it—on behalf of the entire East."
Askai exhaled slowly. Askai could not think of a better man to get involved with.
Absolutely Perfect.
"And why," Askai asked, unable to stop himself, "is the Wall so important? There are people on the other side, Vance. Humans. Not monsters."
Vance leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. His voice remained calm—but a hardness creeped into his tone.
"You don't know the West," he said. "Not really. All you young idealists see is a playground to go wild—drugs, alcohol, sex. A place to indulge and disappear." He tilted his head slightly. "That about sums it up, doesn't it?"
Askai bristled but said nothing.
"There are plans being hatched there," Vance continued, unfazed. "Plans that end in blood and gore for the East. Monsters don't need claws or horns, Askai. They walk like us. Talk like us. The filth is in their minds—not beneath their nails."
"You talk as if you've been there," Askai shot back. "Have you? Do you think no one there wants out? That no one dreams of breaking free from crime and slavery—of stepping into the light?" He leaned forward now, charged with emotion he did not know he could feel. "Life doesn't give them a chance, Vance. Not once!"
For a moment, something unreadable crossed Vance's face. Then it vanished.
"That," he said calmly, reaching again for the file, "is precisely my job. If the filth ever crosses the threshold," Vance added, smiling faintly, "I make sure it finds a grave to bury itself in."
He returned to reading as though the conversation had ended. The room felt suddenly colder, despite the warm afternoon sun filtering through the windows.
Askai sat frozen, understanding settling into his bones. This was how the East always saw the West. Debate wouldn't change it. Logic wouldn't soften it.
And perhaps the West was partly to blame—for wearing its darkness like a crown.
Askai once had. Not anymore.
He tried to channel his thoughts away from the drudgery and more toward a sweet evening he looked forward to. When Jordan had mentioned the call from Kael's teacher, Mrs. Wells, a fierce, protective ache had flared in Askai's chest.
He felt an almost irresistible need to drop everything and see the boy immediately. Mrs. Wells, knowing the treacherous quicksand Kael's brothers were constantly wading through, never called them without urgent cause.
Yet, here he was, trapped by the will of a man who had not yet realized that he was the 'filth' he wished buried in a grave.
Askai didn't realize when the heavy, sound-canceling headphones slipped down his ears and the fading, academic hum of the professor's voice lulled him into a deep, desperate sleep. God knew he needed it; the exhaustion of his life had almost become a chronic affliction.
***