Callum’s eyes wandered across the sprawling garden, the laughter and chatter of the party fading into the background as he tried to shake the discomfort settling in his chest. His mother, still working as a servant in the house of the powerful, moved around the guests with practiced grace, carrying silver trays loaded with delicate hors d'oeuvres. His own hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze skimming over the sea of well-dressed guests who were blissfully unaware of the struggle happening just behind their manicured walls. Some looked at him with confusion, some with disgust, he was just another white boy. Here to serve, not to stare.

He was used to it by now—the feeling of being out of place. But there was something about tonight that made it worse, something that seemed to pull at him from the depths of his chest, like a silent tide he couldn't escape. His mother had always said it was just part of the job, but Callum hated it. He hated that they lived in the shadows of people who treated them like nothing more than invisible furniture, a nobody, a-..blanker.

But then, something shifted.

A figure.

A stranger.

They stood at the edge of the garden, under the flickering glow of the fairy lights that decorated the trees like stars. Their dark skin glowed under the night’s soft embrace, the rich, deep hue almost radiating against the shimmering silver and gold of the party. They moved with a quiet elegance that caught Callum off guard, something in their presence both commanding and calm. A sharp contrast to the disorienting noise of the party. "Who's that?"

The boy whispered to another Nought servant who seemed to be standing near, yet all they gave was an oblivious shrug, busy having wine glasses shoved back onto his tray. Clearing his throat, and ignoring the odd looks, Callum picked up his pace, weaving his way through the crowd to the alluring figure.