Page 73 of Blinding Light

“That’s not funny.” Cyprian jogged to keep up with him. This place gave him the creeps.

On the first floor, the smell seems at its worst. Noise blasted from behind one of the doors, accompanied by shouts and the cry of a baby.

Moargan pulled on his hand once more. “Come on. One more floor.”

Cyprian shivered. Could he have been born here in this filthy building? Could this have been the place where he lived the first months of his life?

They climbed one more floor up, the walls—once a clear white—were stained with brown spots. They reached the second floor. It was far more quiet here than below.

“Here we are. It’s apartment 12C.”

The apartment sat in the far corner and Luminary guards walked ahead. When they reached the door, Vandor turned over his shoulder, the dark, endless pools of his inky-black irises asking the silent question.Ready?Cyprian hesitated. Nerves clutched a heavy grip around his heart.

“What if—” He couldn’t finish that phrase.

Moargan didn’t say anything. He just stood next to him, his hand wrapped around Cyprian’s, and waited. With his blond, smooth hair and violet eyes, shoulders firm and strong the way they filled his Helion Academy uniform perfectly, he looked so out of place, it nearly made Cyprian laugh.

Nearly.

Moargan looked like the Imperial he was, yet here they were. He had accompanied Cyprian to the gate of his past, and Cyprian didn’t know how that made him feel.

He cleared his throat and eyed the door. All those years of research, of dreaming from far away, about a different life, about belonging, had come to this.

To a filthy, run-down apartment. A poor neighborhood. And no matter how much he’d study, how much he’d researched, how far he would travel, this is what he would always be.

A street rat. Unwanted. Abandoned.

Cyprian pressed his ear against the door and listened. “It’s so quiet. What if no one’s home?”

“That’s what we have knuckles for, lover.” Moargan’s lips ticked up in a lazy grin that made his incisors glimmer. “Want me to use mine?”

“No,” Cyprian blurted. “No. I’ll—I’ll do it.” Suddenly his hand felt sweaty. His fist raised it to the door. Then lingered.

“What’s going on in that creative mind of yours, littleaeon?”

“Nothing.” Cyprian cleared his throat, took in a deep breath, and rapped his knuckles against the wooden surface.

For a minute they peered into the silence.

“There,” Moargan whispered. “You hear that?”

Cyprian’s ears were buzzing so loudly, he shook his head. Then he could hear it…shuffling. It came closer until they could hear a chain being unlocked. Then, the door slowly opened.

A pair of glassy eyes in a greyish, wasted face darted outside the ajar door. They darted to Cyprian. The door closed a little further.

“Yes?” The man croaked.

“Hello,” Cyprian’s voice came out a rasp. “My name is Cyprian.” His heart rattled in his chest. His entire body was tense.

This had been the dream for years. This moment. Knocking on the door, introducing himself, only to be met with…

“Who?” Wheezed the other man.

Moargan put his boot in the door. “Open the door,” he ordered. “Orders from the Imperials.Now.”

Cyprian was shoved aside, and the door was yanked open. Everything happened too fast for him to process, but while the man tried to flee further inside the apartment, Luminary guards grabbed hold of his hands, cuffing them behind his back, and cleared the apartment. They practically threw him onto the ratty couch, immobilized him, then drew their weapons and positioned themselves against the wall.

The old man was panting, a vacant look in his eyes. “I didn’t buy anything,” he murmured. “They gave it to me.”

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