I didn't want to choose.
Not between them.
Not under pressure.
Not while my chest felt too tight and the chain in my hand felt like a weight I wasn't strong enough to hold.
But the Academy wasn't waiting.
Footsteps echoed faintly from somewhere behind the courtyard walls. Voices murmured, clipped and urgent. A door slammed in the distance. Someone shouted an order.
The scent evaluation team was already preparing.
Rowan checked his watch lazily. "One minute left."
Chandler's jaw was tight, his breath uneven. Horace was holding himself completely still—but his eyes never left me.
I closed my eyes and whispered the truth I hadn't wanted to admit out loud:
"I can't run across half the campus without being caught."
Chandler inhaled sharply.
Horace didn't move.
"And…"
My voice trembled.
"I can't hide in a public place. Or a hallway. Or a classroom."
Adrian nodded in quiet agreement. "They'd find you in minutes."
I looked at Chandler first.
His expression was raw—protective, angry, scared.
"Elleanore…"
He swallowed.
"You don't have to pick him."
I felt that in my chest like a bruise.
Then I turned to Horace.
His face was unreadable—except for his eyes. His eyes were… soft in a way that terrified me more than his suspicion ever had.
"I don't trust many people here," I whispered.
Horace's breath hitched—barely—but enough.
I swallowed hard.
"And I don't know who's involved in what happened to Elliot."
Everyone went utterly silent.
"But," I continued, voice small but steady, "if I have to hide somewhere they can't touch me… it has to be with someone they can't challenge."
Understanding flickered across Horace's face.
Chandler stiffened.
I tightened my grip on the chain.
"Horace," I said, voice trembling, "I choose your dorm."
The reaction was instant.
Horace inhaled sharply—relief and fear mixing across his features like he wasn't sure which one was allowed to win.
Chandler froze.
Then the hurt hit him—brief, sharp, quickly masked behind anger.
"You're choosing him?" Chandler asked quietly.
"Not him," I whispered. "His rank. His protection."
It didn't soften the blow.
Not at all.
Chandler stepped back like I'd shoved him. "Elleanore, you don't understand what you're doing—"
"She's choosing the safest option," Horace said, tone calm but tight.
"She's choosing the biggest box to lock herself in," Chandler snapped.
Horace's jaw clenched. "My dorm is the only place with enough political shield—"
"You mean your title is."
Horace didn't deny it.
Because it was true.
Because he was the Crown Prince.
Because no one would dare force an evaluation inside his private quarters.
Because no one had the authority—except maybe the headmaster or the royal council.
And both of those were long shots.
Rowan stretched his arms above his head, bored. "I would love to stay and watch you two compare testosterone levels, but time's up."
Adrian's voice broke through, anxious and firm. "They're getting close. I can hear the boots."
Horace nodded sharply. "We move."
Chandler stepped in front of me again. "I'm coming with her."
Horace gave him a look sharp enough to cut stone. "You can't come to my dorm."
"And I'm not letting her walk into it alone," Chandler countered. "I need to know she's safe."
"I said I'll protect her."
"She doesn't belong in your world."
Horace's eyes flickered—hurt, offended, something between the two.
Chandler's voice softened. "She belongs with people who care about her—not people who'll use her for information."
My chest clenched.
"Stop," I said, voice cracking. "Please, just—stop."
They both quieted instantly.
Horace stepped closer—not touching, but steadying. "Elleanore. We need to go."
"Wait," Adrian said, stepping in. "You can't go through the main walkways. They've started scanning people entering and exiting the wings."
I tensed. "Then how—?"
Rowan smirked. "Follow me."
He turned toward the side path—one mostly hidden by trimmed hedges and stone pillars. A maintenance corridor.
"Rowan," Chandler said suspiciously, "why are you helping?"
"Because it's boring when people get caught too early," Rowan replied casually.
We didn't have time to argue.
The hidden path
Rowan led us through a narrow stone archway that blended so well with the wall it was nearly invisible unless you knew to look for it.
"This way," Rowan said.
We slipped inside a dim corridor lit by small fixtures—an old maintenance route that smelled faintly of dust and cleaning supplies.
Adrian followed behind me. Chandler stayed close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. Horace walked ahead, scanning every intersection like someone trained for this.
"You know this route well," Horace murmured to Rowan.
Rowan shrugged. "I like learning things the Academy doesn't want students to know."
"Such as?" Horace asked.
Rowan smiled. "All of its secrets."
Chandler muttered, "Creep."
We reached another narrow hallway that looked more like an abandoned storage wing.
Suddenly Adrian sucked in a breath. "Wait—stop!"
Horace froze, instantly on alert.
Adrian pointed at a break in the floor—just a slight indentation, barely noticeable.
"That's a pressure sensor."
Chandler swore. "Why is there a pressure sensor here?"
Rowan gave him a look. "Because this school likes to keep tabs on who sneaks around."
I felt sweat prick at the back of my neck.
If I stepped on that plate, alarms would go off—or worse, alerts would go directly to the Admin Wing.
Rowan stepped over it easily.
Chandler followed after testing the adjacent tile.
Horace reached out a hand—toward me.
"Here," he said softly, "take it."
My breath caught.
His hand hovered there—steady, waiting, open.
Chandler bristled beside me. "I can help her."
Horace didn't look at him. "She should take whoever makes her feel safe."
My throat burned.
Between them, only one hand reached out without expectation.
Without pressure.
Without demand.
Slowly, trembling, I placed my hand in Horace's.
Warm.
Steady.
Careful.
He guided me over the pressure plate with quiet, controlled ease.
Chandler's expression tightened—but he said nothing.
Not this time.
The break
When we reached the upper wing near the Elite Dorm, Rowan stopped.
"This is as far as I go," he said, brushing dust off his coat. "If I escort you too close, people will start asking questions."
"Why did you help?" I asked softly.
Rowan glanced at me—face unreadable.
"Because your brother helped me once," he said quietly. "And I owe him."
My heart twisted.
He walked away before I could respond.
Adrian lingered only a second longer. "I'll delay anyone sniffing around. Go. Quickly."
Chandler exhaled shakily. "Elleanore… if anything goes wrong—"
"It won't," Horace said.
"You don't know that."
"I know more than you think."
They stared each other down—silent, unspoken tension simmering between them.
Finally, Chandler turned to me.
"Be careful," he whispered.
"I will," I said.
He touched the back of my hand once—soft, quick—and then backed away.
Leaving me standing next to Horace.
Alone.
Shaking.
Holding Elliot's chain in my trembling fist.
Horace opened the door to his dorm quietly.
"Come in," he said gently. "You're safe here."
My breath caught.
The moment I stepped inside—
The moment the door clicked shut—
The façade I'd been holding all day finally cracked.
A sob tore out of my chest before I could stop it.
And Horace—
The Crown Prince I had been terrified of—
Didn't look startled.
He didn't tell me to stop.
He didn't ask questions.
He just stepped toward me—
Slowly.
Steadily.
As if approaching something fragile.
"Elleanore," he whispered, "it's okay."
And for the first time since Elliot vanished—
I let myself break.
I didn't mean to break.
I didn't even feel it happening at first.
Just a small tremble in my hands.
A tight knot in my throat.
Then everything collapsed at once.
The moment the door shut behind us—
the moment the outside noise faded—
the moment I was alone with the chain and the truth—
My body simply gave out.
A sharp, ugly sob tore out of my chest before I could cover my mouth.
I stumbled back, hands shaking so badly the chain slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor.
Horace moved instantly.
Not rushing.
Not panicking.
Just stepping toward me with a calm, steady presence that didn't feel overwhelming at all.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "it's okay."
I shook my head hard, vision blurring. "No—it's not—none of this is okay."
Tears spilled fast, unstoppable.
"I can't do this," I choked. "I can't keep pretending—I can't keep lying—I can't—"
My legs buckled.
Horace caught me before I hit the floor.
Not grabbing.
Not restraining.
Just supporting.
My forehead ended up against his shoulder, his coat still wrapped around me. The scent of cold amber and faint steel surrounded me, grounding me in a way that shouldn't have felt safe—yet somehow did.
"I've been trying so hard," I whispered brokenly. "Trying not to slip. Trying not to be caught. Trying to find him. Every second I'm terrified someone will smell me. Someone will figure me out. Someone will drag me away—"
My voice cracked again.
"I'm so tired, Horace."
His breath hitched—barely—but I felt it.
Then his hand settled gently on my back.
"You don't have to hold it in anymore," he murmured.
I shook harder. "I can't—I can't let anyone see me like this—"
"I'm not 'anyone.'"
His voice was quiet. Firm. Certain.
"You're safe here," he whispered.
I didn't know why I believed him.
But I did.
I pressed my face into his shoulder and let myself cry—small, shaking sobs that had been buried for too long.
Horace didn't move me. He didn't hush me. He didn't treat me like I was fragile or like I was breaking anything but silence.
He just stayed.
His fingers brushed lightly through my hair—not soothing, not overfamiliar, just enough to let me know I wasn't alone.
After a long moment, he murmured,
"Elleanore, look at me."
I lifted my head slowly, cheeks wet, breath uneven.
Horace's eyes were softer than I'd ever seen them.
No suspicion.
No judgment.
Just raw, quiet concern.
"You've been alone in this since the beginning," he said. "Haven't you?"
My throat tightened. I nodded once.
He exhaled, a pained sound he tried to hide. "You shouldn't have been."
I swallowed. "I didn't have a choice."
"You do now."
I blinked at him, shaking. "Horace… you can't just decide to protect me."
"Yes," he said softly but firmly, "I can."
My heart clenched.
A knock suddenly slammed against the door.
My entire body tensed.
Horace immediately shifted—still close, but now between me and the door, his expression turning sharp and controlled again.
"Ellean—" Chandler's voice hissed from outside. "Elleanore, open up. I need to know you're okay."
Horace exhaled through his nose, frustrated. "He's persistent."
"He cares," I whispered.
Horace didn't argue that.
He went to the door and opened it only a crack.
Chandler nearly pushed past him—but Horace blocked him with one arm.
"She's fine," Horace said.
"Move," Chandler snapped. "I want to see her."
"No."
Chandler's jaw clenched. "If you're hurting her—"
"I'm not," Horace said sharply. "She's overwhelmed, and she needs space."
"That's my point," Chandler said. "She needs someone she trusts."
Horace's eyes narrowed. "She trusts me too."
Chandler laughed—humorless, dry, sharp. "You've spent the whole week interrogating her."
"I was trying to understand her," Horace said, voice low. "Now I do."
Chandler shoved the door wider, face tight with protectiveness and worry.
"El," he said softly when he saw me. "You okay?"
I wiped my cheek quickly. "Y-Yeah. I just… had a moment."
Chandler looked between us.
At my red eyes.
At Horace's coat around my shoulders.
At the closeness.
His expression twisted into something complicated—hurt, relief, jealousy, frustration all tangled together.
He stepped inside despite Horace's attempt to block him.
"Elleanore, what did he do?"
"Nothing," I whispered.
"Then why are you crying?" Chandler demanded.
Horace's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
I took a shaky breath. "It just… hit me all at once. Everything."
Chandler moved closer, frowning. "You should've come to me."
His voice sounded small.
Wounded.
I shook my head gently. "Chandler… I couldn't."
That hurt him more than anything else I'd said.
But he didn't push.
He stepped back, hands in his hair, pacing. "We need to get you out of here. They're already starting sweeps."
Horace stepped forward. "She's not leaving."
Chandler turned sharply. "She can't stay here."
"This is the safest place," Horace said firmly.
"You think so? What if the administration decides to search every Elite Dorm?"
"They won't," Horace replied. "They need my father's approval to enter a royal residence."
Chandler scowled. "Of course they do."
"They won't risk a political scandal," Horace added. "Especially not involving a supposed Alpha with 'irregular scent responses.'"
Chandler flinched at that wording.
I wrapped Horace's coat tighter around myself.
A quiet beat passed.
Then Chandler moved closer to me—slowly, gently—and reached for my hand.
His voice was soft, almost breaking.
"Elleanore… I need you to tell me something."
I blinked. "What?"
He swallowed hard.
"Am I losing you?"
The room went silent.
Horace's entire body stiffened.
My heart twisted painfully.
Chandler looked at me like I was the last anchor he had—like he'd been holding onto the idea of me for years and was terrified someone else was stealing it away.
I opened my mouth—
But before I could speak—
Another rapid sequence of knocks shook the dorm door.
Loud.
Authoritative.
Horace's eyes snapped toward it.
Chandler froze.
My breath went still.
A voice echoed from the hallway:
"Crown Prince Frinton?
Open the door.
We have orders from the Administrative Wing to conduct a wellness check."
Rowan hadn't been exaggerating.
The manhunt had begun.