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“Sugar fang, you were floating.”

“That was… entirely intentional. Practice for… supernatural grace?”

His raised eyebrow could have taught masterclasses in skepticism. “Indeed. And the marketing critique?”

I sank deeper into my armchair. “I have no idea what you mean. I was merely… appreciating their typography choices?”

“Of course.” Archer had leaned forward, and heaven help me, his scent intensified. “So you weren’t about to inform them their demographic targeting was misaligned and their market segmentation required substantial refinement?”

“…perhaps?”

How did one explain to an unfairly attractivenot actually relatedbrother that such knowledge stemmed from an alternate reality where one survived on instant noodles and excessive overtime? Asking for a thoroughly confused, occasionally floating acquaintance.

“I’m really glad you came out today,” Archer said warmly, his usual playful grin softening into something genuine. “You know, I’ve been leaving my best jokes under your door for years. All those amazing puns, wasted!”

Right. The old Luca—the real Luca—spent his days hiding in his room, not wandering the company halls or floating in front of marketing teams.

I straightened my spine, trying to channel some proper vampire prince energy. “I apologize for the floating incident…”

“That floating thing was interesting,” Archer’s face lit up with curiosity. “And don’t worry, I’ll gladly be your designated catcher anytime you decide to defy gravity.” He tilted his head, considering. “Though I wonder if it’s a vampire thing? Maybeyou’re coming into your powers? Like how we wolves get our first shift…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe we should ask the Blackthorns about it? They might know if this is normal for young vampires.”

His genuine concern was touching, making it impossible to maintain any formal distance. Even if his solution to potential vampire floating issues seemed to mainly involve him being ready to catch me at any moment.

Luca Valentine’s memories surfaced: The Blackthorns. New Vale’s most powerful vampire clan, with their black rose emblem and aristocratic bearing. Like the other twelve major clans that ruled New Vale, they stood head and shoulders above the dozens of smaller supernatural families in the city. The Valentine Clan had been like that in Dark Haven—one of many minor vampire families living under the rule of more powerful clans. Until they were destroyed, caught in the crossfire of Dark Haven’s ruthless politics, where the strong devoured the weak without mercy. Through his memories, I felt the bone-deep fear of those final days, the desperate flight to New Vale, the relief when the Whitlocks took him in. I wondered what the Blackthorns might make of me now, the sole survivor of a minor clan from their rival city, somehow under the protection of the mighty Whitlock wolves. Would they see me as a curiosity? A potential ward? Or just another reminder of how differently the two cities handled their supernatural politics?

I took a sip from my blood bottle, grateful for the momentary distraction from these heavy thoughts. But even the rich liquid couldn’t fully quiet my awareness of Archer’s concerned gaze—my adopted brother who was so ready to help, even with things he didn’t understand.

Archer rose from his chair, and the movement sent another wave of his citrus and sunshine scent washing over me. My fangs throbbed in response. “Well, now that you’ve finished yourlunch…” He picked up my empty bottle with a satisfied nod. “Maybe next time you’ll join us properly? The twins have been dying to spend time with you.”

I managed what I hoped was a noncommittal noise that could pass for either agreement or demure rejection. Speaking felt dangerous when all I could think about was how his pulse beat strong and steady at his throat.

“Rest well, sugar fang.” He paused at the door, that brilliant smile flashing again. “And do try to stay earthbound?”

Only when the door closed behind him did I let myself collapse back into the armchair, exhaling a breath I didn’t need but apparently had been holding anyway.

“That was… interesting, Prince Luca,” Benedict observed diplomatically from his corner.

I groaned into a throw pillow. “Is it always like this? When they’re around? This… overwhelming?”

“Like what, Prince?”

Like their mere presence makes me want to sink my fangs into their throats and never let go.But I couldn’t say that. Instead, I waved vaguely at the air. “The scents. The… intensity.”

“Ah.” Benedict’s tone held something I couldn’t quite decipher. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding them? The intensity?”

I peeked over my pillow at him. Was that what everyone thought? That the old Luca hid away because their presence was too overwhelming? Because he couldn’t resist the call of their blood?

It would make sense—explain his self-imposed isolation, his careful distance. If he felt even a fraction of this burning need…

But something about that explanation felt wrong. Like I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

A soft knock interrupted my musings, followed by two unfamiliar heads peeking around my door—one with bouncinggolden curls, the other with carefully styled dark hair. They were young, maybe sixteen, wearing matching blue and silver uniforms with what I assumed was the Whitlock Academy crest on their blazers.

My heart stuttered. The old Luca’s memories filtered through like a distant dream: Sylvie and Hunter. The twins. Uncle Owen and Aunt Senna’s children. More memories surfaced—fashion magazines slipped under his door, video game recommendations on Post-it notes, quiet voices in the hallway asking if he wanted company.

Uncle Owen and Aunt Senna. I hadn’t even met them yet. The thought made my chest ache. In my old life, I’d spent countless nights dreaming of having a family—parents, siblings, cousins. Now here they were, and I had no idea how to act around them.

“Luca?” The girl—Sylvie—spoke with hesitant hope. “We just got back from school…”