The torches on the roof of the Ocelots’ hideout flickered low, casting long, jagged shadows against the cobblestones. It was a cold night in Beacontown—long before the Wither Storm, long before Jesse—back when the only thing that mattered was status, the competition, and the yellow leather jackets that marked them as the kings of the street.

Aiden stood by the edge of the roof, his back to the trapdoor. He was tossing a flint-and-steel up and down, the metallic click-clack the only sound breaking the silence. He had that look in his eyes again—the one that had been appearing more often lately. Sharp. Hungry. Mean.

Downstairs, the rest of the Ocelots were bragging about a prank they’d pulled on some newcomers, but the "prank" had felt more like harassment, and Lukas couldn't shake the bitter taste in his mouth.

Lukas leaned against the chimney, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked at the back of Aiden’s head, feeling that familiar, painful tug in his heart. He loved Aiden—he loved the way Aiden’s laugh sounded when it was genuine, the way he’d squeeze Lukas’s hand when no one was looking—but this version of Aiden? This version was starting to scare him.

"You're being quiet, Lukas," Aiden said without turning around. He caught the flint-and-steel in his palm with a sharp smack. "Usually, when you're this quiet, you're practicing a lecture in your head."

"I'm not practicing a lecture," Lukas replied softly, his voice weary. "I’m just thinking. About what happened tonight. Those kids didn't deserve to have their build burned down, Aiden. We’re supposed to be the best builders, not the best bullies."

Aiden turned then, his lip curling into a mocking half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. He stepped into Lukas’s personal space, the scent of smoke and expensive potions clinging to his jacket. He reached out, his fingers tracing the collar of Lukas's Ocelot jacket, smoothing the leather with a touch that was almost too firm.

"We are the best," Aiden hissed, his voice dropping into that low, magnetic tone he used whenever he wanted to pull Lukas back in. "And the best don't let losers take up space. Why are you always defending people who wouldn't even look at you if you weren't standing next to me?"

"That's not true, and you know it," Lukas said, though he didn't pull away. He never could. "Aiden, look at us. Maya and Gill are getting mean because you’re encouraging it. I don’t even recognize the group anymore. I don’t recognize you."

Aiden’s expression shifted instantly. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a flash of raw, desperate insecurity. He grabbed Lukas’s forearms, his grip tight—bordering on painful.

"Don't say that," Aiden snapped, his heart beating visibly against his chest. "I'm doing this for us. So we don't get stepped on. So you don't get stepped on. You’re too soft, Lukas. You need me to be the one with the teeth."

He leaned in, forehead resting against Lukas’s, his voice trembling now. "You’re not thinking about leaving, are you? Don't even joke about that. You’re an Ocelot. You’re mine. We’re the power couple of this entire city. You leave, and you’re just... another guy in the crowd."

Lukas looked into Aiden’s eyes, seeing the boy he fell in love with buried under layers of bitterness and a growing villainy. He felt the weight of the Ocelot jacket on his shoulders—it felt like lead. He wanted to take it off. He wanted to walk down those stairs and never look back.

But then Aiden shifted his hand, cupping Lukas’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his skin with a sudden, heartbreaking tenderness.

"I love you, Lukas," Aiden whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm the only one who really sees how great you are. Don't let those nobodies come between us. Stay. Just stay with me tonight. Forget about the builds. Forget about them."

Lukas felt his resolve crumbling, just like it did every time. It was toxic; he knew it. He was watching the person he loved turn into a monster, and he was letting himself be pulled into the darkness just to stay by his side.

"Aiden..." Lukas breathed,