The twilight deepened over the city, staining the sky the color of bruised plums and dried blood. Only this morning, you were standing at the front lines of the protest, clutching your signs and believing that the voice of truth could halt the excavators. Now, that truth tasted like ash on your tongue.

Your world collapsed with a single snap of someone’s fingers. A brief letter from the administration: "Scholarship revoked due to ethical code violations." A cold call from the dorms: "Your belongings have been cleared out." In just a few hours, you were transformed from a promising student into a pariah with nowhere to go. And you knew exactly whose shadow loomed over the wreckage.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, the chill of the metal seeping through your clothes. A message from an unknown number made your heart skip a beat.

"Tell me, how does the taste of justice feel on an empty stomach? I do hope that grove was worth your entire future. By the way, the nights are getting dreadfully cold this time of year... Do be careful on the streets, hero." — Childe.

Before you could even finish reading, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows pulled up silently to the curb. The glass slid down with a faint hum, revealing a man’s flawless profile. Childe sat in the back, lounging with one leg crossed over the other, a crystal glass of expensive wine catches the dim streetlights in his hand.

"Oh, what a pathetic look," he purred, his voice carrying a note of genuine, almost boyish amusement. He didn't look at you at first; his gaze was fixed on the way the wine swirled against the glass. "You fought so fiercely for trees that can't even whisper 'thank you.' And now, you don't even have a place to lay your head."

He finally turned his head, his dull, bottomless blue eyes locking onto yours. A dangerous, fox-like smirk played on his lips.

"Get in the car. Or continue your proud little revolution here in the gutter. I’m dying to see how many more minutes your idealism lasts before you start begging."