Chapter 3

Clifton closed his eyes. The bright sunlight of the kitchen faded into black. His senses were violently dragged back to a humid, drizzly October night in Chicago, one year ago.

In his memory, his fingers were wrapped tightly around the heavy metal of the Fire Cup MVP trophy. His adrenaline was surging, pumping wildly through his veins from the championship victory just minutes prior.

He was pulling Justice by the wrist. Justice was just an amateur player then. They ducked into a dark, narrow brick alley behind the stadium to escape the screaming fans and flashing cameras.

The alley smelled like wet garbage and stale rain. A single, rusted streetlamp flickered above them. Puddles on the uneven ground reflected the faint, blurry neon lights of the city.

Clifton pushed his back against the wet brick wall. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He turned his head and looked at Justice standing next to him.

Justice was panting heavily too. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain. His pale, handsome face was illuminated by the flickering light. Those deep eyes were locked onto Clifton, filled with a fatal, magnetic attraction.

Under the cover of the dark alley and the sheer ecstasy of winning, the love Clifton had been holding back completely shattered his rational defenses.

He let go of the priceless MVP trophy. It hit the ground with a heavy splash, sending muddy water flying onto his shoes. He didn't care.

Clifton took a step forward. He reached out and cupped Justice's freezing cold face with both hands. He tilted his head down and kissed him. It was a forceful, undeniable kiss, driven by pure desire.

The second his lips pressed against Justice's, the passionate response he expected didn't happen.

Instead, a suffocating, terrifying rigidity seized Justice's entire body.

The moment Clifton touched him, Justice reacted as if a high-voltage wire had been jammed into his spine. A violent, full-body spasm ripped through him.

Before Clifton could even deepen the kiss, a massive force slammed into his chest.

Justice let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-animalistic choke. His hands shoved hard against Clifton's chest, pushing him away with desperate, frantic strength.

Caught completely off guard, Clifton stumbled backward. His spine slammed hard into the rough brick wall. A dull, heavy pain radiated across his shoulder blades.

He jerked his head up, shocked. What he saw next burned into his brain, becoming the most humiliating moment of his life.

Justice was looking at him like he was a monster. Justice's hands were clamped over his own mouth, pressing so hard his knuckles were bone-white.

Justice's chest was heaving erratically. It was as if that kiss was a lethal poison. His eyes were wide, filled with naked terror and a visceral, physical revulsion that couldn't be hidden.

Justice stumbled backward, taking two frantic steps away. His foot splashed into a deep puddle. His entire body was shaking uncontrollably. A harsh, dry-heaving sound tore from his throat.

Clifton froze. His hand, still reaching out, hung suspended in the cold air. The rain quickly soaked his sleeve. His heart felt like it had been crushed by an invisible, icy fist.

To a man as proud as Clifton, this reaction was crystal clear. It was raw. It was unfakeable. It was rejection in its purest, most primal form.

The joy of the championship drained from Clifton's face. It was instantly replaced by disbelief, and then, a blinding, humiliating rage at being played for a fool.

He ground his teeth together. His voice shook as he demanded an answer.

"If I disgust you so much," Clifton snarled, "why did you spend the last six months playing duos with me every single day? Why did you look at me like that?"

Justice leaned heavily against a rusted dumpster. He was gasping for air, shaking his head frantically. He tried to speak, but the severe attack locked his jaw. He couldn't force a single syllable out of his throat.

To Clifton, that silence and the shaking head meant only one thing: default. It was the guilt of a liar whose scam had just been exposed.

A bone-chilling coldness washed over Clifton. He bent down and picked up the muddy trophy. He looked at Justice one last time.

"Get out," Clifton spat, using every ounce of his strength to keep his voice cold.

He didn't look back. He turned around and walked out of the muddy alley, leaving that violently shaking figure behind in the rain forever.

That night, back in his hotel room, burning with extreme humiliation, Clifton blocked Justice's phone number, his Discord, his Twitter. He erased him completely.

What he didn't know-what he couldn't have known-was that two hours later, a message was sent from Justice's phone.

It was a single line.

*I'm sorry. It's not you. Please let me explain. *

The message bounced. The number was already blocked.

Justice stared at the delivery failure notification until his phone battery died. Then he sat in the dark, in a cheap motel room paid for with tournament winnings that were almost gone, and tried to breathe through the terror that had seized his body the moment Clifton's hands had touched his face.

He didn't know the word for what was wrong with him. He only knew that the one person who had ever made him feel safe had just become the trigger for something he couldn't control.

By the time he worked up the courage to try again-to find Clifton's team email, to message a teammate, to do anything-Aegis had already flown to a bootcamp in Seoul. And Justice had convinced himself that Clifton was better off without someone so broken.

He was wrong. But he wouldn't understand how wrong until a year later, standing in a basement academy room in Los Angeles, watching the man he'd never stopped thinking about walk through the door with murder in his eyes.

The flashback snapped.

Clifton's eyes flew open. He was still standing in the Aegis kitchen. His fingers had dragged across the marble countertop, leaving a long, wet streak.

The phantom feeling of that rejection crawled over his skin again. His breathing grew heavy. The edges of his eyes turned red with fresh anger.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the Aegis team logo on the screen. His thumb hovered over his blocked list. There it was. The Discord account he had erased. The one that now went by a different name.

Ember.

The ID Justice had chosen for himself. As if he still believed there was something left inside him worth burning for. As if he hadn't already extinguished everything between them in that muddy alley.

Clifton's jaw tightened. He made a silent vow.

He would not let himself be fooled by the same person twice.