Cassian didn't move.
He stood at the top of the staircase like he'd been carved into place—broad shoulders squared, jaw tight, copper hair catching the dim light like a flame waiting for oxygen.
He wasn't breathing hard.
He wasn't surprised.
He wasn't confused.
He was waiting.
Waiting for us.
Chandler inhaled sharply beside me. "Oh, fantastic. He's blocking the only exit. Exactly what I needed today."
Rowan muttered, "Technically, there's an emergency hatch behind the fourth shelf—"
"No hatches," Horace cut in sharply. "We're not running."
Cassian's voice floated down before we could respond.
"You shouldn't be here."
Horace took one step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me—a subtle move, but unmistakably protective.
"And what," Horace asked coldly, "makes you think you belong here more than we do?"
Cassian didn't flinch.
"Because I've been here before."
Silence.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So he admits it."
Chandler's hands curled into fists. "You were in this room? Why? When?"
Cassian ignored him.
His eyes locked onto me—and something in his expression cracked.
Not anger.
Not suspicion.
Hurt.
Worry.
A faint ache he hadn't meant to show.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "we need to talk."
My breath stuttered.
Horace immediately shifted his stance. "You're not speaking to her alone."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "This is between her and me."
Chandler barked a laugh. "Like hell it is."
"Chandler," I whispered, grabbing his arm before he lunged.
Cassian's eyes flicked to where my hand wrapped around Chandler.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
He exhaled slowly and lifted both hands—open, palms showing.
A gesture of peace.
"Please," Cassian said quietly. "Let me explain."
Rowan stepped forward slightly, voice low. "We can't talk here. Not in the restricted sublevel."
Cassian nodded once. "Fine. Upstairs."
He turned, but didn't fully step out of the way.
Not yet.
He paused halfway through the doorway, looking back at me again.
"Elleanore," he said, softer, "trust me."
Chandler scoffed loudly. "Yeah, no. Absolutely not."
But I—
I didn't answer.
Because part of me remembered Cassian's voice yesterday.
"…tell him he doesn't have to hide from me."
And the way he said it—quiet. Almost pleading.
But this wasn't the time to think about that.
Horace kept himself between us as we followed Cassian up the stairs—Rowan behind me, Chandler flanking my left side.
A protective formation.
And Cassian noticed.
He didn't comment, but his shoulders tensed—a flicker of something sharp crossing his face.
When we reached the main archive hall, Cassian stopped near the tall shelves, far enough from the guards that no one could overhear us.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm going to tell you what happened," he said. "All of it."
Chandler sneered. "Oh? Now you're suddenly cooperative?"
Cassian didn't rise to the bait.
He looked only at me.
"It started seventeen days before Elliot disappeared."
A chill spread through me.
Horace crossed his arms. "We found the sealed incident report."
Cassian nodded. "I figured."
"What happened that day?" I whispered.
Cassian hesitated—
And that hesitation said enough.
He was afraid of what I'd think.
Cassian finally spoke, voice low:
"Elliot confronted me."
My breath caught.
Cassian continued.
"He accused me of something. Something serious."
"What?" Chandler demanded.
Cassian's eyes never left mine.
"He said I stole something from him."
Rowan's brow lifted. "Stole? Like what? Notes? Files?"
Cassian shook his head. "Not that kind of stealing."
His gaze lowered.
"Something personal," he murmured.
My pulse raced. "Cassian… what did he mean?"
He swallowed. Hard.
"He said," Cassian whispered, "'you took something that wasn't yours to take.'"
The words lingered in the air—heavy, loaded, fragile.
Chandler frowned. "What does that even—"
Horace went still.
I felt a cold realization trickle down my spine.
Not something.
Someone.
Someone. Elliot had confronted Cassian because—
"I didn't know," Cassian said, voice suddenly raw. "I didn't know you were—"
He cut himself off abruptly, jaw clenching.
I blinked. "Me?"
He closed his eyes briefly like the memory hurt him.
"When he said the name," Cassian murmured, "I realized who he meant."
Chandler frowned. "Who?"
"Her," Cassian said simply.
And when I didn't respond—
He said it aloud.
"Elleanore."
My vision blurred.
Cassian continued, voice trembling in a way I'd never heard:
"I didn't know Elliot had a twin at the time. I didn't know your scent was similar. I didn't know anything. And Elliot—he thought I was lying. He thought I was—"
Cassian's voice broke quietly.
"—interested in him."
Time stopped.
Completely.
I stared at Cassian.
"What?" Chandler choked out. "You—what?"
Rowan stopped breathing.
Horace's jaw tightened.
My heart hammered.
Cassian raised both hands again—not defensive, but desperate.
"I wasn't," he said quickly. "Not like that. I wasn't trying to—"
He dragged in a breath.
"He walked in on me reacting to the wrong scent," Cassian said, cheeks flushing in shame. "I didn't know it was yours. I didn't even know you existed. I thought something was wrong with me—an Alpha reacting to—"
He cut himself off again.
To someone who wasn't there.
To me, not Elliot.
And Elliot assumed Cassian was—
"Oh my god," I whispered.
Cassian nodded slowly.
"He came at me," Cassian said. "He pushed me against the wall. Demanded I tell him why I was scent-reacting around him."
"And you told him what?" Horace asked harshly.
"The truth," Cassian said. "That I didn't know why."
"And he didn't believe you," I whispered.
Cassian shook his head. "Not for a second."
"Why would he?" Chandler snapped. "You have the personality of a brick wall and the communication skills of a—"
Cassian ignored him.
"I tried to explain," Cassian said. "But Elliot was furious. He said I was messing with him. With his head. With his dignity. He told me that if I ever so much as looked in his direction again, he'd report me."
I felt sick.
Cassian rubbed his forehead.
"He ran off after that. I didn't see him until the day he disappeared. He looked… different."
My throat tightened. "Different how?"
"Scared," Cassian murmured. "Distracted. Like he was looking over his shoulder every five seconds. When he passed me in the hallway, he didn't glare like usual."
Cassian swallowed.
"He asked me a question instead."
"What question?" Horace asked sharply.
Cassian's voice dropped to a whisper.
"'Did you talk?'"
The blood in my veins went cold.
"Talk?" I whispered.
Cassian nodded. "He asked if I told anyone about the confrontation. About the scent. About him."
"And you said—?"
"No," Cassian said. "Of course not. It wasn't something to talk about."
Horace stepped forward, expression darkening. "And what did he say?"
Cassian met my eyes again.
"He said," Cassian whispered, "'Then someone else did.'"
My breath shook.
Someone else had known about Elliot.
Someone else had known about the fight.
About the scent.
About me.
A chill spread across my skin.
Chandler whispered, "You're saying he was being… watched."
Cassian didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Rowan murmured, "That lines up with the tampered footage."
Horace looked at me.
"Elleanore," he said slowly, "who else knew Elliot was covering for someone?"
My hands trembled.
Because that list was shorter than anyone realized.
Just two people.
Just two possibilities:
Elliot.
And whoever he confronted.
The threat Elliot warned me about was real.
Close.
Inside the Academy.
And getting louder.
Chandler stepped forward.
"Cassian," he said, voice wavering between anger and urgency, "why didn't you tell us any of this earlier? Why keep it secret?"
Cassian looked down.
"I thought it would make everything worse," he whispered. "And I thought… if I stayed away from you, Elleanore, the situation would calm down."
My chest tightened. "It didn't."
Cassian's voice cracked.
"No," he whispered. "It didn't."
Silence held us all hostage for a long moment.
Then Rowan broke it.
"Well," Rowan said lightly, "now that the emotionally charged confession portion of today's episode is done—"
Horace exhaled sharply. "Rowan."
Rowan shrugged. "What? It was getting painfully dramatic."
Chandler glared. "You're awful."
"I know," Rowan said cheerfully. "Anyway, we need to leave. Now."
Horace's brows furrowed. "Why?"
Rowan pointed casually toward the back of the hall.
"Because someone else is coming."
We all turned.
Footsteps echoed in the main walkway.
Heavy.
Coordinated.
Official.
Two scent specialists.
One instructor.
A student prefect.
All headed straight toward the archive wing.
My breath caught.
"They're scanning for irregular signatures again," Rowan said matter-of-factly. "And if you're here—"
He looked at me.
"They'll smell the suppressor. Even a trace."
Chandler grabbed my wrist. "Move."
Horace stepped in front of us, steering us toward the back exit.
Cassian followed close behind—his expression grim, protective in a way I did not expect.
We were about to run—
When a voice I recognized too well cut through the hall:
"Stop. All of you."
My heart collapsed into my stomach.
Because it wasn't a scent specialist.
It wasn't a professor.
It was the Headmaster.
And he was staring straight at me.
The Headmaster's Game
The Headmaster's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Stop. All of you."
Every muscle in my body locked.
His footsteps echoed slowly along the marble floor as he approached—each step measured, deliberate, confident. Like a person who knew the entire building belonged to him.
Headmaster Aldric Vane.
Tall.
Calm.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes sharp enough to slice through excuses.
I'd barely spoken to him since the opening ceremony, but now he was looking straight at me.
Not Horace.
Not Rowan.
Not Chandler or Cassian.
Me.
"Miss Fonze," he said, tone polite but heavy with meaning, "why are you in the archives?"
My mouth went dry.
Horace stepped forward immediately—between me and the Headmaster, blocking the line of sight like a shield.
"She's with me," Horace said evenly.
Aldric raised an eyebrow. "Your Highness, your clearance grants you entry, not guests."
"She is not a guest," Horace said calmly. "She is under my supervision."
Chandler moved to my right, jaw tense. "She's not doing anything wrong."
Cassian positioned himself slightly behind me, subtly blocking the view of the hallway where we'd come from—where the Restricted Room still sat open.
Rowan simply leaned against a shelf with all the casualness of a cat that had knocked over something expensive.
Aldric folded his hands behind his back.
"How interesting," he murmured. "The Crown Prince, the Monteverde heir, the Valehart heir, and the Blackwell prodigy… all together in the archives… escorting a scholarship student."
The way he said scholarship student made the hair on my arms rise.
Horace didn't react.
Chandler bristled.
Cassian's eyes sharpened.
Rowan smiled faintly, eyes cold.
The Headmaster stepped closer.
Too close.
"Elleanore Fonze," he said slowly, "I have noticed an unusual pattern."
My blood chilled.
"A pattern?" Horace asked.
Aldric nodded.
"Yes. Wherever there is disruption in the Academy… Miss Fonze is nearby."
Chandler immediately snapped, "Are you accusing her of something?"
"No," Aldric said mildly. "Not yet."
Not yet.
The words made my stomach drop.
Aldric's gaze moved to me again.
"You arrived the day your twin brother vanished.
You were present near the scent disturbance yesterday.
You were in the Elite Wing when the wellness sweep began.
And now, you are in the archives—
with three heirs and a royal—
in an area students rarely enter."
Chandler opened his mouth to argue, but Horace lifted a hand.
"Headmaster," Horace said calmly, "Elleanore is under my protection. If you have concerns, speak to me."
Aldric's eyes glided over Horace, unreadable. "And your father knows about this arrangement?"
Silence.
Horace didn't flinch.
But he didn't answer.
Aldric smirked slightly. "I thought not."
The tension thickened.
Rowan tilted his head. "Headmaster, unless you intend to charge us with something, we should be allowed to continue."
Aldric turned that piercing gaze onto Rowan. "Mr. Blackwell. Always eager to leave before questions are asked."
"Always eager to avoid repetitive questions," Rowan corrected.
Aldric ignored the sarcasm.
Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small device—sleek, silver, unmistakable.
A handheld field scanner.
A scent scanner.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Cassian's eyes widened.
My heart nearly stopped.
Aldric powered it on.
A soft hum filled the air.
"No," Horace said sharply. "Put that away."
"It's standard procedure," Aldric replied.
"Not here," Horace countered. "Not without approval."
Aldric raised the scanner a little higher.
"You forget, Your Highness," he said quietly, "the Academy operates independently. Not even royal blood can block a wellness check in a public building."
Rowan stepped forward.
"Headmaster," he said lightly, "I'm sure there's no need—"
Aldric lifted a hand to silence him.
"Miss Fonze," Aldric said, addressing me directly, "step forward, please."
My breath caught.
Cassian muttered sharply, "Don't move."
Chandler grabbed my wrist. "She's not stepping anywhere."
Horace stepped fully in front of me, stance firm.
"You will point that scanner elsewhere," Horace said. "Now."
Aldric stared at him for a long moment.
"Your Highness," he said quietly, "are you interfering with Academy regulation?"
The room froze.
Chandler whispered, "Horace—this is dangerous."
Cassian muttered, "Back down. You're pushing too hard."
But Horace didn't move.
He kept his ground.
Calm.
Unshaken.
"This scanner," Horace said steadily, "is used for scent irregularities. Suspected instabilities. Health emergencies. Elleanore is not experiencing any of these."
"And how would you know?" Aldric asked.
Horace's jaw tightened.
Aldric tilted his head slightly.
"If I didn't know better," the Headmaster said softly, "I would wonder if something is being hidden."
Something cold crawled up my spine.
"And yet…" Aldric murmured, "there is one thing that makes me hesitate."
My breath stopped.
Aldric turned toward Horace.
"You don't take risks," he said.
"Not without reason."
"And not for strangers."
The implication hit the room like a quiet explosion.
Horace didn't react—visibly.
But Rowan's eyes flicked to him.
Chandler's grip tightened around my wrist.
Cassian's expression slipped for a second.
Aldric lowered the scanner.
"Very well," he said slowly. "No scan today."
My knees almost gave out.
Chandler exhaled loudly.
Rowan smirked faintly, relieved.
Cassian's shoulders loosened.
But Aldric wasn't finished.
"However," the Headmaster continued, "I will require Miss Fonze to come to my office tomorrow morning."
My chest tightened. "Why?"
Aldric smiled politely.
"To discuss Elliot Fonze."
My blood ran cold.
Horace's voice hardened. "She's not a subject for interrogation."
Aldric chuckled. "Interrogation? Oh no. Nothing so dramatic. I simply have questions about his final week here."
Final week.
The words felt like a knife.
Aldric gave a small bow.
"I expect you at nine a.m. sharp, Miss Fonze."
Then he turned—
Walked past us—
And left without another word.
Silence swallowed the hall.
Rowan let out a long exhale. "Well. That was awful."
Chandler rounded on Horace. "Are you insane? You just challenged the Headmaster—"
"I know," Horace said calmly.
"That scanner was one second away from picking up—"
"I know."
"You can't protect her from everything—"
"I know," Horace snapped, finally losing calm.
A beat of silence.
Chandler's jaw clenched.
Rowan rubbed his temple. "Aldric Vane does not make random visits. Someone tipped him off."
Cassian stepped closer to us.
And when he spoke—
His voice was low.
Firm.
Unusually serious.
"Elleanore," Cassian said quietly, "you cannot go to that office alone."
I swallowed. "I wasn't planning to."
Chandler nodded. "We're all coming."
Horace shook his head slowly.
"No," he said. "They won't let all of us in."
"Then who?" I whispered.
Horace looked right at me.
"Me."
Chandler bristled. "Of course it's you."
Rowan pushed his glasses up. "Headmaster Vane won't reject a prince."
Cassian added, "And he won't risk pushing you."
Horace didn't look away from me.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "tomorrow... stay close to me."
My breath stuttered.
Because the way he said it—
quiet
steady
unshakably sure—
felt less like a request
and more like a promise.
Cassian looked away sharply.
Chandler ran a hand over his face.
Rowan muttered, "This is turning into a political disaster."
Horace stepped closer.
Not touching me.
But close enough that his presence steadied something in my chest.
"You're not going through this alone," he whispered.
And even though fear churned in my stomach—
For the first time since Elliot disappeared…
I believed him.