Three days after the brutal fight with Kane in the gymnasium, the atmosphere at St. Swithin's Academy shifted again. It didn't snap back to normal; it curdled into something thick, heavy, and paranoid. Emily was still firmly in charge. Emily's friends—Sasha, Luna, Sophia, Eva—still patrolled the halls like a secret police force in plaid skirts. They checked hall passes with the scrutiny of border guards. They searched lockers without cause. They stood at the back of classrooms, silent sentinels watching for any sign of dissent. The students walked with their heads down, conversations dying the moment a "Royal" entered the room. Laughter had become a contraband item.
But Emily herself seemed... distracted.
She wasn't the terrifying ice queen who had expelled the student council president. She was a ghost haunting her own kingdom.
Eiden watched her from afar, his vigilance a constant, low-level hum. He was back in class, his ribs taped tight under his shirt, his hand healing into a roadmap of scars. He sat in the back row, silent, invisible, a wolf playing the role of a sheep. He saw the way she would stare out the window during History, her eyes unfocused, watching the gray clouds gather. He saw the way her hand would tremble over the expulsion papers for a student who had broken curfew by five minutes, the pen hovering as if the ink was too heavy. He saw her snap at Sasha for being too rough with a first-year.
He saw cracks in the ice. And where there were cracks, there was hope.
The Library
It was late afternoon, the sun casting long, dusty beams through the high windows of the library. Eiden was in the restricted section, meeting with Hazel in their hidden alcove behind the geography stacks. Hazel with herself playing chess.
"She's planning something," Hazel whispered, sliding a piece of paper across the table. It was a list of checkout logs. "She's pulled the original blueprints for the dockyards. And she's been spending hours in the archives, looking at old war records from the 1920s. Not school history. Military history." Eiden playes a move on the board.
"She's looking for proof," Eiden said, a spark of hope rising in his chest that he couldn't quite suppress. "She remembers the train. She remembers the vault. She's looking for proof that her father lied to her about Evergreen."
"Or she's looking for better ways to kill you," Hazel countered, her voice sharp and pragmatic. She tapped the table. "Don't be an idiot, Eiden. Sentiment gets you killed. She pointed a gun at your head. She pulled the trigger."
"She missed," Eiden said stubbornly. "She missed on purpose. She had a clear shot and she put it in the wall."
"That just means she's conflicted," Hazel said, closing her book. "It doesn't mean she's safe. A conflicted person is just a bomb with a faulty timer. You don't know when it will go off."
A shadow fell over their table, blocking the light.
Hazel froze, her hand drifting to her bag. Eiden tensed, his muscles coiling, his hand reaching for the knife hidden in his boot.
It was Emily.
She was alone. No Sasha. No Luna. No guards.
She looked tired. Her perfect uniform was slightly rumpled, as if she hadn't slept. Her eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a raw, open exhaustion.
"Leave us," Emily said to Hazel. Her voice lacked its usual command; it sounded brittle, like dry leaves stepping on stone.
Hazel looked at Eiden, a silent question in her eyes. Do I fight?
Eiden nodded slightly. Go.
Hazel gathered her books and left, but she paused to whisper a final warning to Eiden, barely moving her lips. "Watch your throat."
Eiden and Emily were alone in the dust and silence. "Are you here to expel me?" Eiden asked, keeping his voice neutral, though his heart was hammering against his bruised ribs. "Or to finish what you started in the locker room?" Emily answered, "You playing chess with her?" Eiden didn't answer. She pulled a chair out and sat down heavily, as if her legs could no longer support her. She put her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "He lied," she whispered, her voice muffled. Eiden's heart skipped a beat. "What?" Emily looked up. Her eyes were swimming with tears, the ice completely melted. She looked like the girl who had eaten a pie on a train, young and lost. "My father," she said, her voice trembling. "He told me Evergreen killed my mother. He told me he killed her in self-defense to save me. He made me believe she was a monster." "I know," Eiden said gently, leaning in. "He poisoned you." "But I found... this." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled photograph. It was black and white, old and grainy, the edges worn soft. She placed it on the table between them. It showed a young Akuma Cronus standing next to a woman—Evergreen. They weren't fighting. They weren't enemies. They were laughing. Akuma had his arm around her shoulders, his face open and joyous in a way Emily had never seen. But it was the date stamped on the back that mattered. "July, 1924," Emily read, her voice breaking. "Three months after my mother died." She looked at Eiden, a tear rolling down her cheek. "If she killed my mother…. why was he laughing with her in July? Why was he... happy? Why didn't he kill her then?"
Eiden felt a surge of triumph, "Was that Evergreen? Is that the target I was after? Hard to say, because she looks pretty young." He plays another move on the board. The truth was leaking out, breaking through the dam of lies Akuma had built. "Because she didn't kill your mother, Emily," Eiden said, his voice urgent. "Your father... he loved her. The dagger proves it. This photo proves it. Emily watches the board and plays a move. He made up the story to turn you against her. To turn you against me. He needed you to hate me so you wouldn't ask questions." "I don't know what to believe anymore," Emily sobbed quietly. "I feel like... like my whole life is a stage play. And I don't know who wrote the script. I don't know who the villain is." She reached across the table and took Eiden's hand. Her grip was tight, desperate, her fingers cold. "Help me, Eiden. Please. I don't want to be this... this thing my father wants me to be anymore. I don't want to be his soldier. I just want to know the truth."
Eiden looked at her. He saw the girl who had seemed confused. He saw the girl who had hesitated with the gun. Hazel's warning (Watch your throat) faded away. He couldn't leave her like this. He couldn't let Akuma win. He had to save her, not just from the school, but from her father.
"I can show you," Eiden said.
"How?"
"The truth isn't here," Eiden said. "It's not in these books. It's not in your father's lies. It's in the mountains."
He squeezed her hand back.
"Come with me, Emily. Come to the Wolf's Den. Meet the Masters. Meet the people who knew Evergreen. They can tell you who she really was. They can show you the truth."
Emily's eyes widened. "The... the Den? But... that's forbidden. My father says it's a place of monsters." "It's my home," Eiden said. "And it's the only place your father can't reach you. We can leave. Tonight." "But... how?" Emily asked, her voice hushed. "The school is locked down. The trains are watched. My friends... they are everywhere." "We don't take the train," Eiden said. "We take the water." "The water?" "There's a supply boat," Eiden said, improvising. "It leaves the harbor at midnight. It goes north, toward the coast near the peaks. We can stow away. By the time your father realizes we're gone, we'll be halfway to the Den."
Emily bit her lip. She looked at the photo of her father laughing with the woman she was supposed to hate. She looked at Eiden, the boy she was supposed to kill.
For a long moment, she was silent.
Then, she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered. "Take me to the truth, Eiden. Take me to the Wolves."
"Midnight," Eiden said. "The south docks. Pier 4. Don't bring anything. Just yourself."
"I'll be there," she promised.
She stood up, squeezed his hand one last time, and walked away, wiping her eyes.
Eiden looked at the board, his king had no square left to go.