The knocking didn't stop.
It wasn't hesitant.
It wasn't polite.
It wasn't patient.
It was official.
Sharp.
Heavy.
Demanding.
"Crown Prince Frinton, open the door."
My entire body locked. A cold rush swept through me so fast I swayed.
Chandler grabbed my wrist.
Horace caught my elbow.
And for a split second, I didn't know which direction to run—or if running was even possible.
"Horace," I whispered shakily. "What do we do?"
Horace didn't panic.
He didn't flinch.
His expression didn't crack.
But something behind his eyes sharpened—
a switch flipping,
a prince stepping into the role he had been trained for since birth.
"Stay behind me," he murmured.
"Don't speak."
"Don't breathe too deeply."
"Don't let them scent you."
I nodded, pulse pounding in my ears.
Chandler leaned in close enough for his breath to hit my cheek. "If they push inside, I'm getting you out through the balcony."
"You'll break your legs," I whispered.
"No," he said. "I'll break someone else's first."
Before I could react, the knock returned—harder.
"Prince Frinton. We are required to confirm all Alpha students are accounted for. Scent irregularity was reported in this wing. Open the door." Chandler inhaled sharply. "They're after you."
Horace shot him a look.
Not apologetic.
Not defensive.
Something closer to: I know.
Horace turned to me again.
"Elleanore. Bedroom. Now."
I froze. "What if they search—"
"They won't touch my private quarters," he said. "Even they have limits."
"They might request a walk-through," Chandler argued.
"They won't," Horace repeated, voice cold and sure. "Unless they want to be stripped of rank for violating royal privacy."
He was right.
The Royal Dorm was protected by a wall of political rules even the Academy feared.
But the fact they requested a check meant someone was pushing hard.
Horace motioned urgently.
I moved.
Chandler guided me quickly toward Horace's bedroom—the one I had barely seen, the one I was now about to hide inside like a criminal.
Before I stepped inside, Chandler's fingers tightened around my wrist.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Breathe slow. Don't let the fear spike. It'll spike your scent too."
"I know," I whispered back.
He hesitated—eyes restless, pained—then forced himself to release me.
Horace held the door open, eyes flicking over my trembling form.
"Do not open this door," he said softly. "No matter what they say."
"Horace—"
My voice cracked once.
He paused.
I didn't mean to look at him that way.
I didn't mean to let all my fear leak into my eyes.
But his expression softened despite everything.
"I'll protect you," Horace whispered. "I swear it."
Then the knock boomed again.
He closed the door.
Inside the Prince's Room
The moment the door shut, the silence hit me like a wave.
I pressed my back to the wood, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to my chest.
The room smelled faintly like him—clean citrus, winter air, something steadying.
Normally I would have avoided breathing it in too deeply.
Now, it was the only thing keeping me calm.
My hands trembled so hard I had to clutch the chain around my neck just to ground myself.
Outside—
Chandler's voice murmured something.
Then Horace's deeper, steadier tone responded.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
Please…
Please don't let them come in.
Outside the Door
The clicking of locks echoed through the dorm.
Horace opened the front door.
I heard the professional politeness in his voice:
"Good afternoon."
Then a colder voice replied:
"Prince Frinton. Thank you for cooperating. A scent irregularity was detected in this corridor."
Horace: "Irregularity?"
"Yes. A possible destabilization from one of the second-year Alphas."
Horace: "My health is stable."
"Your roommate's, then."
A beat of silence.
Horace: "He's not present."
My breath caught.
Not present?
Was that good?
Or—
The official continued, "We require visual confirmation that the resident Alpha is accounted for."
Chandler's voice cut in sharply.
Aggressive.
Protective.
"He left earlier—check the training wing logs if you want. He hasn't come back."
The official didn't sound convinced.
"Rumors indicated an additional presence was detected in this space."
Chandler nearly swore. "Rumors? You're operating on rumors?"
Horace stepped between them.
"Regardless," Horace said, "this is my dorm."
"We understand, Your Highness," the official said carefully, "but the wellness check requires—"
"It requires nothing," Horace interrupted, tone firm. "You may visually confirm that I am fine. But you will not step inside my personal quarters."
The man hesitated.
Then:
"With all due respect—"
"You're already pushing the limits of respect."
Silence.
Then a low sigh.
"May we conduct a scan from here?"
Horace: "A scan?"
"Yes. A general pheromone field reading. Non-invasive."
My blood froze.
A scan?
A pheromone field reading could detect hormones in the air…
Including Omega hormones.
Even faintly suppressed ones.
My hands flew to my mouth.
No.
No.
No.
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
Don't—
Horace's voice turned dangerously soft.
"No," he said. "You may not."
"It is protocol," the official said.
"It is a violation," Horace replied.
Chandler added, "And it's not happening."
I could almost hear the official grow tense.
"If we cannot conduct a field scan," he said slowly, "we must call for higher authorization."
Horace's voice dropped half an octave.
"I'd love to hear you explain to the headmaster why you illegally demanded access to a royal residence based on a rumor."
That shut the man up.
Completely.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"I see," the official said tightly. "We will report that the resident is accounted for."
Horace's tone softened. "Thank you."
Footsteps shifted.
For a second, I thought it was over.
Then—
The official asked one more question.
"Before we leave… one thing. Has anyone else entered or exited this room in the last hour?"
My stomach dropped.
Chandler's breath caught.
But Horace—
Horace didn't hesitate.
"No."
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Sure.
"A royal dorm room is not a revolving door," Horace said crisply. "No one enters without permission."
A long silence followed.
Finally—
"Understood, Your Highness."
Footsteps retreated.
The door closed.
Locked.
Silence.
Inside
I didn't breathe until I heard Horace say:
"You can come out."
My legs barely worked.
I stood slowly, wiping my eyes, and opened the bedroom door.
Horace stood in the middle of the dorm, posture stiff from tension he hadn't shown a moment ago. Chandler was beside him, arms crossed, brows drawn tight.
When their eyes found me—
Chandler exhaled like he'd been holding his breath.
Horace's shoulders dropped in relief.
"You're safe," Horace said softly.
My chest trembled. "I thought… I thought they would…"
"They didn't," Horace assured. "Because they can't."
Chandler nodded, stepping closer. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I scared myself," I whispered.
Chandler touched my shoulder gently. "You're okay now."
Horace glanced at the bedroom door I'd just come from—then at me.
"Elleanore," he said quietly, "you need to stay inside my dorm for now."
I swallowed. "For how long?"
"Until the sweep ends," Horace replied. "Maybe longer."
Chandler frowned. "She can't hide forever."
"No," Horace agreed, "but she needs time. And safety. And space."
Chandler opened his mouth to argue—
Then closed it.
Because for once, he couldn't deny the truth.
Horace looked at me again—steady, certain, protective in a way that wasn't suffocating.
"Stay," he said softly. "At least for today."
My heart thudded.
I nodded.
And for the first time since arriving at this Academy—
I felt something like safety.
Thin.
Shaky.
Fragile.
But real.
The silence after the officials left felt unreal—too still, too fragile, like any loud breath might crack it open again.
Horace stood by the door, one hand still on the lock. The tension in his shoulders hadn't fully settled. Chandler paced once, twice, then stopped in front of me, searching my face for any sign of lingering panic.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, though my heartbeat hadn't slowed.
"A lie," Chandler muttered, almost fond. "But I'll take it."
Horace stepped closer—not imposing, but steady. "You handled that well."
I let out a weak laugh. "I sat in your bedroom and tried not to pass out."
"That's still 'handling it.'" He said it simply. Like there was no shame in how scared I'd been. Like surviving was enough.
For a moment, we all breathed.
But the calm didn't last.
A sudden, urgent knock hit the door again.
Not the officials.
This one was faster, more impatient.
Chandler swore. "You've gotta be kidding me—Horace, don't open it."
Horace frowned. "That's not the admin knock."
Another knock—sharper, louder.
"El—sorry—Elliot! Open the damn door!"
My blood ran cold.
Cassian. His voice was unmistakable—low, rough, threaded with irritation and something dangerously close to concern.
Chandler's expression darkened immediately. "Absolutely not. Nope. Denied. We're not letting Psycho Copperhead in."
Horace didn't move toward the door. "He'll cause a scene if I ignore him."
"Let him," Chandler snapped.
Another round of pounding.
"El—Elliot, I know you're in there."
Chandler's head whipped toward me. "He knows you're here?"
"Not… exactly," I whispered.
Chandler's eyes narrowed. "Why does he sound like he knows?"
I didn't get to answer.
Horace lifted a hand. "Both of you. Quiet."
He moved to the door—slowly, cautiously—and opened it just a crack.
Cassian's imposing frame filled the hall.
His copper hair was slightly messy, eyes sharp and burning like he'd been pacing the campus looking for someone. For me.
He didn't try to shove the door open.
He didn't even lean forward.
He just stared at Horace with an intensity that made the air shift.
"Where is he?" Cassian demanded.
Horace didn't flinch. "If you mean my roommate, he isn't available."
Cassian's eyes flicked past him instantly—over Horace's shoulder, scanning the room.
A predator checking for movement.
For a scent.
For me. Chandler placed himself directly where Cassian's gaze might land if the door opened wider.
Cassian's jaw clenched. "Is he with you?"
Horace replied calmly, "Why are you looking for him?"
Cassian exhaled through his nose—a restrained, frustrated sound. "He didn't show up for the sweep. They think he's the unstable signature."
Chandler stiffened. "Unstable? That's what they're calling it now? Great."
Cassian ignored him.
He dropped his voice.
"I checked the lower wing earlier," Cassian said. "B-12 was open. And something was left behind."
My stomach twisted.
The chain.
I'd retrieved it before Cassian saw it…
Or so I thought.
Cassian's eyes sharpened. "If that chain belonged to Elliot… then the one person who would react to it is his twin."
Horace's posture shifted subtly—protective, controlled. "That doesn't explain why you're here."
Cassian hesitated.
Then said something I did not expect:
"I'm worried."
The room went still.
Chandler muttered under his breath. "Sure. He's worried. Great. Everyone panic."
Horace's voice remained calm. "Worried about what?"
Cassian looked away—just a flicker—but it was enough to show discomfort.
"There were footsteps by the room," Cassian said. "Fresh ones. Smaller than Elliot's."
A chill crawled up my spine.
He noticed.
He tracked it.
Cassian's voice darkened. "And then I caught a faint scent—strange. Faint. Familiar in the wrong way."
My throat tightened.
He smelled the suppressor.
Even just a crack of it.
Cassian stepped closer to the door.
"Where is your roommate?" he asked again, voice low and controlled.
Before Horace could respond—
A faint alarm blared in the distance.
All three Alphas tensed at once.
Chandler's eyes widened. "What was that?"
Horace's face hardened. "They initiated a secondary sweep."
Cassian's expression snapped from frustration to something colder. "Which means they're looking for Elliot specifically."
My breath caught.
Cassian saw it. Felt it.
His eyes narrowed—not with anger.
With realization.
"Is he here?" Cassian asked quietly.
Horace's answer was instant. "No."
Cassian didn't believe him. I could see that in his face. In the sharpness of his gaze. In the tension in his shoulders.
But instead of forcing his way in—
He took a small step back.
Then he said something that froze me entirely:
"Tell him…"
A pause.
His throat worked once.
"…tell him he doesn't have to hide from me."
Chandler almost laughed. "You? The guy who practically bullied him on day one? Oh, that's rich—"
Cassian's glare could've cut steel. "I'm not here to fight him."
Horace's brows furrowed. "Then why—"
Cassian's voice softened—just barely.
Barely enough to break me inside.
"…because I made a mistake last year."
The world stopped.
My breath hitched.
Cassian didn't look at anyone when he said it. He looked at the floor, like the words cost him something.
Then he stepped back fully.
"If he wants to talk," Cassian said quietly, "I'll be near the east training wing."
He turned to leave—
But paused just once.
"Tell him I mean it," he said. "All of it."
Then he walked away.
Horace closed the door slowly.
Chandler let out a long, disbelieving sigh. "What is wrong with everyone on this campus? Are we collecting emotionally damaged Alphas like stray cats?"
Horace rubbed his forehead. "Cassian isn't lying."
"I know that," Chandler muttered. "That's the problem."
I swallowed hard. "He… he realized something."
Horace looked at me. "Not everything. But enough to worry."
Chandler frowned. "You're not meeting him. Not alone."
I nodded.
I didn't trust Cassian.
Not yet.
But the fear in his voice earlier…
The regret…
The hint of truth…
It shook me.
Before I could think further about it, the tension in the room shifted.
Horace's gaze—gentle and steady—fell on me.
"Elleanore," he said quietly, "I need to ask you something."
My throat tightened.
I knew the question.
I'd been avoiding it.
But Horace stepped closer—enough that I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"What," he asked softly, "was Elliot to you?"
I froze.
Not because the answer was complicated.
But because it wasn't.
I looked down at the chain in my hand.
The last thing Elliot left behind.
My throat thickened.
My eyes burned.
"He was…"
I swallowed hard.
"He was my twin."
Horace inhaled sharply.
Chandler went still.
Adrian—who had quietly stepped back into the hallway—sucked in a breath.
Even Rowan, leaning against the wall outside, paused mid-step.
"My twin brother," I whispered. "My other half."
And then—
Finally—
Horace asked the question I'd been dreading most:
"If Elliot is gone…"
He paused, voice roughening.
"…who are you stepping into this Academy for?"
My voice broke.
"For both of us," I whispered. "For the truth."
Horace closed his eyes for a moment—something like pain flickering across his face.
Then he said, so soft it almost wasn't sound:
"I'm sorry."
I didn't know why he apologized.
But somehow, it hurt more than anything else.