"I didn't hear anything for a moment—no voices, no footsteps, no breath but my own.
All I could feel was the cold metal of the chain resting in my palm. Elliot's chain. Elliot's tag. Something he wore every day.
He never took it off.
Never.
Seeing it here—forgotten, left behind—felt like being kicked in the chest.
Slowly, I stood. The edges of my vision pulsed, a quiet ringing building behind my ears.
Horace stepped forward first.
His eyes fell to the chain in my hand, and something in his expression cracked—not enough for most people to notice, but enough for me to see.
"Is that yours?" he asked quietly.
I didn't trust my voice.
All I could do was shake my head once.
His gaze lifted to my face, searching, worried in a way that made my lungs tighten.
Cassian looked away.
Chandler stepped closer, eyes locked on the chain with a flash of recognition. "Isn't that—?"
"Yes," I whispered.
My voice broke.
"It's Elliot's."
Everything in the hallway shifted.
Cassian's shoulders tensed. Chandler's jaw tightened. And Horace exhaled slowly—like a realization had just hit, heavy and unwelcome.
"How did it get here?" Horace asked.
I swallowed. "I don't know."
Chandler frowned. "Someone put it there."
"Or he dropped it," Cassian said quietly.
I spun to him. "Elliot would never drop this."
Cassian didn't argue.
He didn't speak at all.
His bronze eyes stayed on the chain—on the small engravings worn from years of fidgeting—until he finally said, voice low:
"It wasn't there when I left last year."
My breath hitched. "You're sure?"
He nodded once.
I felt sick.
If Cassian was telling the truth— If the chain wasn't here months ago— If it suddenly appeared now—
Then someone placed it here recently.
Someone who wanted me to find it.
Or someone who had found Elliot's belongings and didn't care where they ended up.
Or worse…
Someone who wanted to warn me.
I tightened my grip on the chain until it dug into my skin.
Horace took a step closer. "Elli—Fonze," he corrected himself quickly, "you shouldn't be here. We need to go."
"No," I whispered. "Not until—"
He reached out—not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the air shift. "This room is restricted for a reason."
"And my brother came here for a reason," I said, voice thin but steady.
Horace's eyes darkened. "Then we'll figure it out. But not here. Not now."
His voice had changed. Not strict. Not royal. Soft. Controlled. Almost gentle.
I looked at the open door of B-12.
The inside was dim—no windows, only faint lights and the outline of heavy equipment. I could barely see anything beyond shadows.
But I could feel it.
Something wrong. Something cold. Something like the memory of fear trapped in the air.
Chandler touched my arm lightly. "Come on. Let's move."
Cassian said nothing, but his gaze stayed on me—too steady, too unreadable.
Reluctantly, painfully, I stepped away from the doorway.
Chandler moved last, pulling the door shut until it clicked.
The sound echoed like a warning.
As soon as we returned to the main hallway, Cassian peeled off without a word—no explanation, no parting glance, nothing.
Horace watched him go, jaw tightening.
"Don't trust him," Horace muttered.
I didn't respond.
Chandler stood a little too close, like he expected someone to lunge at me again. "Are you okay?"
I pressed the chain to my chest. "No."
Chandler's eyes softened. "I know."
Horace looked at me then—really looked—and whatever wall he had kept up between us wasn't as solid now.
"Fonze," he said quietly, "what is that chain? Why was it so important to him?"
I swallowed. My voice barely held.
"It's something he had our dad make," I whispered. "Before he died."
Horace blinked. His expression softened—respect flashing through his eyes.
"I see," he said quietly.
Chandler rested a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "You should sit down for a bit."
He meant well.
But Horace stepped in front of him.
Not hostile. Just… protective.
"I'll take him," Horace said.
Chandler's jaw flexed. "Why?"
Horace held his gaze, calm but unyielding. "Because he's shaking."
I looked down.
I was.
"Scent suppressors weaken under stress," Horace added in a low voice.
My blood froze.
Chandler stiffened. "You noticed?"
Horace didn't answer him.
He looked at me again, voice steady.
"Come with me," he said. "Please."
That word—please—did more to break my resolve than any command could have.
I nodded, just slightly.
Chandler exhaled, tension slipping from his shoulders. "Text me if anything happens. Don't disappear on me."
"I won't," I whispered.
He left reluctantly, looking back once before disappearing into the crowd.
Leaving me alone with Horace.
We walked in silence.
Horace didn't rush me. Didn't question me. Didn't pry.
He just stayed nearby—far enough to give me space, close enough to guide me.
He led me to a small, quiet courtyard behind the east wing. A single tree stood at its center, branches swaying gently in the wind.
"Sit," Horace murmured.
I did.
He sat next to me—carefully, respectfully, leaving a cushion of distance between us.
We watched the leaves move in slow patterns. My fingers twisted around the chain again and again, the cool metal warming under my touch.
Finally, Horace spoke.
"What was the last thing Elliot said to you?"
I closed my eyes.
"He told me he had to come back here," I whispered. "He didn't say why."
"Did he seem afraid?"
"He seemed… determined."
Horace nodded slowly. "He was focused during those last few days. More than usual."
My heart lurched. "You noticed?"
"I notice everything," he said softly.
There it was again—that quiet honesty that was harder to handle than suspicion.
"What did you see?" I asked carefully.
Horace didn't answer immediately.
He rubbed his thumb against his palm, a small, thoughtful gesture.
"Your brother requested private training time," he said. "Late hours. Unusual for his level."
"Why?"
"I don't know," Horace admitted. "But the night before he disappeared, he went down to the lower wing."
My breath caught.
"B-12?" I asked.
Horace's expression shifted subtly. "Yes. That hallway."
My chest tightened. "Did he go in?"
"No," Horace said. "He didn't."
I blinked. "But Cassian said—"
Horace shook his head. "Cassian left early that night. I was the one who locked up."
Something cold crept up my spine. "So… Elliot never entered?"
Horace hesitated.
Then:
"He was standing outside the door," he said. "On the phone."
My breath caught.
"On the phone with who?" I whispered.
Horace looked at me—silver eyes steady, unreadable.
"He said just one sentence before he hung up."
"What did he say?"
Horace paused.
Then repeated the exact words:
"I know what you did."
The world tilted.
My heart stopped.
And for the first time, I understood—
Elliot wasn't just in danger.
He had discovered something.
Something the Academy would kill to protect.
For a long moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Horace's words replayed in my mind, each one heavier than the last:
"He said: 'I know what you did.'" Elliot had confronted someone. He'd discovered something. And the Academy buried it.
My fingers tightened around the chain until the edges bit into my skin.
"Horace…" My voice cracked. "What happened after that? Did he say anything else?"
Horace shook his head. "That was all I heard."
A lump formed in my throat. "And then?"
"He hung up. He went quiet. Looked… shaken." Horace paused, gaze distant. "Then he walked away. I assumed—" His jaw clenched. "I assumed he went back to the dorm."
He didn't.
He never did.
My pulse hammered, uneven and sharp.
"Why didn't anyone follow up?" I whispered. "Why did no one investigate?"
Horace's expression shifted—controlled, but deeply troubled.
"They did," he said. "But the investigation ended quickly. Too quickly."
"And you didn't question that?"
"I did," he said, voice low. "But I was told to stay out of it."
"By who?"
Horace met my eyes.
"People above even my rank."
I felt my stomach twist.
He was the Crown Prince. Who outranked him enough to silence him?
Only a handful—the Academy's inner administration, the royal security council, and maybe… maybe someone connected to the Valehart family.
Cassian's family.
I swallowed, my throat dry.
"Did Elliot look scared?" I asked softly.
Horace hesitated. "He looked… determined. But also like he was realizing something very late."
"Realizing what?"
"That he'd crossed a line he couldn't uncross."
The courtyard felt colder suddenly.
A gust of wind blew, rustling the leaves and sending a small shiver through me.
Horace noticed.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I know," I whispered.
He shifted—subtly, like he didn't want to startle me—and placed his coat over my shoulders.
Warm. Heavy. Soft.
I stared at him, surprised.
"It's not a royal order," he said, almost too softly. "Just a suggestion."
My chest tightened. "Thank you."
Horace gave a small nod.
Then—
Footsteps approached.
Sharp. Quick. Purposeful.
I turned—
Chandler.
His expression was tense, eyes worried but controlled. He must've been looking for me.
"I tried to track you down," he said, slightly out of breath. "You left fast."
He stopped when he noticed Horace's coat around my shoulders. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
But instead of commenting, he crouched in front of me.
"What happened?" he asked softly. "You look like you're about to faint."
I held up the chain.
Chandler's eyes widened. "I… Elleanore—"
Horace stood behind me, watching, unreadable.
Chandler's voice dropped. "That's his. I remember."
"Cassian said it wasn't there last year," I whispered. "But Horace… he said Elliot never went in. So someone must've put it there recently. Or—"
"Or someone wanted us to think he did," Chandler finished.
My heart pounded.
Chandler reached for my hand—slowly, visibly giving me the chance to pull away.
I didn't.
He closed his fingers around mine, the chain pressed between our palms.
"Listen," he said. "I've been digging into the Academy databases—don't ask how, you'll lose respect for me—"
Horace exhaled sharply. "You breached Academy systems?"
Chandler shrugged. "Half-breached. Quarter. A mild poke."
"That's not better."
"Anyway," Chandler continued, ignoring him, "I found something odd."
He lowered his voice.
"The Academy logs for the night Elliot disappeared were wiped. Clean. Not corrupted—deleted."
My throat closed. "By who?"
"Only upper-admin can order that kind of purge," Chandler said. "Or someone with very high clearance."
Horace's gaze sharpened.
Cassian's father had high clearance. So did a few royal security members.
So did a handful of professors.
I felt panic rising—tight, suffocating.
Chandler squeezed my hand subtly. "Hey," he murmured. "Don't spiral yet. We're going to figure this out."
I nodded shakily.
But before I could say anything else—
A soft voice whispered from behind a pillar:
"You're all too loud."
I stiffened.
Rowan Blackwell stepped out, arms crossed, expression flat but eyes too bright—like someone who had been waiting for a dramatic moment to appear.
Chandler glared. "Do you ever walk like a normal person?"
"No," Rowan replied simply. "Not when sneaking is more efficient."
"What do you want?" Horace asked, tone clipped.
Rowan ignored him and turned to me.
"I told you B-12 was important," he said. "I didn't expect you to collect the prize so quickly."
"Prize?" Chandler echoed, voice sharp.
Rowan gestured to the chain. "That."
My grip tightened.
"It wasn't left on purpose," I said.
Rowan tilted his head. "Maybe. Maybe not."
"Stop speaking in riddles," Chandler snapped, rising to his full height.
Rowan took a step closer, unbothered. "Fine. I'll be clear."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"The surveillance camera outside B-12"—he paused—"should have shown exactly who opened that door and placed the chain inside."
My pulse jumped.
"But?" Horace asked tightly.
"But," Rowan continued, "the footage from that camera was tampered with."
A chill ran down my spine.
"When?" I whispered.
Rowan's eyes glinted behind his glasses.
"Three days ago."
My breath caught.
Three days ago— The day I arrived at the Academy.
"They wiped Elliot's footage last year," Rowan said. "And now they're wiping yours."
I felt the world tilt.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Horace's expression hardened—cold, dangerous.
Rowan leaned in slightly.
"You're not just retracing Elliot's steps," he said quietly. "You're following someone else's agenda."
"What agenda?" I whispered.
Rowan looked almost sympathetic.
"Someone wants you in danger."
The chain felt heavier in my hand.
A warning. A message. A threat.
Or all three.
"Why?" I whispered.
Rowan's voice softened—not cruel, not mocking, but chillingly sincere.
"Because the Academy doesn't forget," he said. "And it doesn't forgive."
His next words were even softer.
"And you, Elliot Fonze—are repeating a dead man's path."
My breath broke.
Horace stepped toward me instantly.
Chandler moved at the same time.
And for the first time—
Rowan didn't smile."