The walk back to Horace's dorm felt longer than any I'd ever taken.
No one spoke.
Not the prince.
Not Chandler.
Not Cassian.
Not Rowan.
Every footstep echoed too loudly in the polished hallways, and every passing student seemed to stare a second too long. My fingers curled around Elliot's letter, trembling.
I kept rereading one line in my head:
"Don't trust the one who—"
The sentence Elliot never finished.
The warning he never got to explain.
It throbbed under my skin like a bruise that wouldn't fade.
When we reached Horace's dorm, he unlocked the door and motioned for me to enter first. The moment the locks clicked behind us, Chandler exhaled sharply and collapsed onto Horace's couch like he'd been holding tension in his spine for the past hour.
Rowan threw himself into a chair and kicked off his shoes like he owned the place. Cassian stood near the door, arms crossed, expression tight, as if replaying every second of the Headmaster's conversation.
Horace gently guided me toward the bed—his bed, again—but this time I didn't argue.
My legs were shaking.
When I sat, the letter in my hand crinkled weakly.
Horace sat beside me—not too close, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "can you read it again? Out loud, if you can."
My throat tightened.
Chandler leaned forward. "Only if you want to."
Cassian said nothing, but his eyes flicked to the letter with something like guilt.
Rowan took a sip of tea, waiting for the plot to unfold.
I nodded.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper again.
I read every line slowly.
Carefully.
Like each word was a piece of Elliot that I had lost and suddenly found again.
By the time I reached the last incomplete sentence, my voice cracked.
"And El—
There's something else.
You have to be careful around the one who—"
Silence swallowed the room.
Chandler ran a hand through his hair. "He didn't finish. Damn it."
Rowan adjusted his glasses. "He didn't need to finish. He said enough."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
Rowan sighed like it was obvious. "It means he recognized someone. Someone he feared. Someone he didn't have time to name."
Horace leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. "The letter directly mentions someone with access to the lower wings."
Chandler frowned. "That doesn't narrow anything down."
Rowan smirked. "Actually, it does. Think about it."
Cassian's gaze sharpened. "Half the Academy is restricted."
"No," Rowan said calmly. "Half of the Academy is 'restricted.' But the lower wings? The sublevels? Those are different."
He lifted a finger.
"There are only five categories of people with unrestricted access to those areas."
He raised his hand one finger at a time:
"One: The Headmaster."
My chest tightened.
"Two: Royalty."
Horace didn't move.
"Three: High-ranking prefects."
Cassian stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Four: The Blackwell family."
Chandler blinked. "Why the Blackwell family?"
Rowan sipped his tea. "Because my family designed the security systems, obviously."
"And five," Rowan continued, "elite-level student monitors with special assignments."
Chandler frowned. "Special assignments?"
Rowan nodded. "Like patrolling the lower hallways. Or performing scent evaluations. Or escorting students suspected of instability."
Cassian's jaw tightened.
Horace lifted his head. "Cassian…"
Cassian didn't look away. "Say it."
"No one's accusing you," I whispered.
But Cassian did look away then—just briefly—and that alone made something inside me tremble.
He spoke quietly.
"I didn't touch Elliot. I didn't threaten him. I didn't—whatever you think—do not put me on that list."
"No one is," Horace repeated.
But the tension in the room said we weren't entirely sure.
Rowan exhaled. "Okay, let's eliminate suspects based on behavior."
Chandler rubbed his temples. "Rowan, you don't get to play detective—"
"Yes, I do," Rowan cut in. "Because I am the only one in this room who is not driven by emotion."
Cassian muttered darkly, "That's not a strength."
Rowan ignored him.
Instead, he pointed one finger at the air.
"Suspect category one: Headmaster Vane.
He's powerful. Influential. Knows things we don't. But Elliot said not to trust someone who could get close. The Headmaster rarely interacts with students. So for now… low likelihood."
Chandler looked unconvinced. "He literally knows she's not an Alpha."
"Yes," Rowan agreed. "Which is exactly why he won't expose her yet. It's more useful leverage if kept quiet."
Horace frowned. "That's… concerning."
"No kidding," Chandler muttered.
Rowan raised a second finger.
"Category two: Royalty."
Horace stiffened.
Rowan stared at him calmly.
"Horace, you were Elliot's roommate. Which means you had proximity. Access. His trust."
Horace looked like Rowan had slapped him.
"Elleanore," Horace said softly, "look at me."
I did.
His eyes were steady, quiet, open.
"I would never hurt your brother," he said. "Not then. Not now. Not ever."
Something in my chest cracked—not from fear, but from the intensity of his sincerity.
Rowan shrugged. "I know. I'm just making the list. Relax."
Horace didn't relax.
Rowan lifted a third finger.
"Category three: High-ranking prefects."
Cassian's posture changed subtly. Shoulders tense. Eyes darker.
Chandler glared. "Cassian. What exactly was your prefect assignment last year?"
Cassian didn't look away.
"…lower wing patrol," he said quietly.
Chandler sprang up from the couch. "Are you kidding me?"
"He was assigned," Rowan said calmly, "because his family is tied to the Academy's security history. Not because he volunteered."
Cassian ground his teeth. "You two finished?"
Chandler jabbed a finger at him. "Not even close."
"Chandler," I said softly.
He froze.
I shook my head gently.
Chandler's glare softened—but only slightly—as he sat down again.
Rowan continued. "Category four: The Blackwell family."
Chandler snorted. "Rowan. You're suspicious by design."
Rowan grinned. "I try."
Horace sighed. "Rowan…"
Rowan rolled his eyes. "Fine. I didn't touch Elliot. The most I ever did was steal his pencil once."
Cassian muttered, "Wouldn't put it past you."
Rowan raised his teacup. "Thank you for your trust. Moving on."
Then he raised the fifth finger.
"Category five: Special monitors.
Elleanore… is there anyone who consistently approached you and Elliot both? Anyone who was always around?"
The answer formed before I wanted it to.
"Julieta," I whispered.
Chandler jerked upright. "The transfer student?"
Horace frowned. "She did hover near the wellness check…"
Rowan nodded. "And she arrived the same week Elliot disappeared."
Cassian crossed his arms. "So what are you saying?"
Rowan leaned back.
"I'm saying," he said quietly, "that we have more suspects than we thought."
Horace turned toward me.
"Elleanore," he said gently, "what part of the letter feels most important to you? What feels like the clue?"
I stared down at the paper.
At the blurred, desperate handwriting.
At Elliot's final message.
My eyes landed on one specific line.
"I don't know who to trust anymore."
I swallowed.
"He wasn't just scared of someone," I whispered. "He was scared of everyone."
Silence settled again.
Rowan tapped the table. "Then our greatest danger… isn't the Headmaster. Or the prefects. Or even Cassian."
Cassian shot him a glare. Rowan ignored it.
"No," Rowan said softly. "The real danger is the person Elliot thought was safe."
Horace's breath caught.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Cassian's jaw clenched.
I felt something cold settle in my bones.
Because Elliot—my Elliot—had been smart.
Careful.
Suspicious.
If someone he trusted turned on him…
Then that person wasn't just close.
They were right there.
Beside him.
Beside me.
Horace placed a hand near my shoulder—steady, quiet.
"Elleanore," he murmured, "we will figure this out."
But I wasn't sure.
For the first time, truly—
I wasn't sure at all.
Because Elliot hadn't been afraid of strangers.
He'd been afraid of someone familiar.
And that meant one terrifying thing:
The person who hurt Elliot…
might already be inside this room.
The Trap Begins to Close
Rowan kept staring at Elliot's letter.
Not with sympathy.
Not with confusion.
But with a very specific curiosity—sharp, calculating, almost too calm.
Chandler noticed first.
"What now?" he asked tightly. "Don't tell me you found another secret folder hidden in the paper."
Rowan didn't look up. "Actually… yes."
Chandler threw his hands up. "I was joking—ROWAN—"
"Quiet," Rowan murmured.
Horace stood behind Rowan, arms crossed, watching him with the intense stillness only royalty seemed capable of.
Cassian leaned against the far wall, tension coiled tight in his shoulders.
I sat on the bed, holding what little strength I had left after this morning's meeting with the Headmaster. My fingers curled around Elliot's letter again.
Rowan gently slid the paper from my hands.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "I need to try something."
My stomach tightened. "What are you doing?"
Rowan held the letter near a lamp, tilting it carefully.
"Your brother was smart," Rowan murmured. "Smart enough to hide information from the wrong people. The question is: did he hide it from the right people too?"
Horace stepped closer. "Rowan—explain."
"Look at the ink," Rowan said, ignoring the prince entirely.
We all leaned closer.
At first, the letter looked normal—words pressed onto the page in Elliot's familiar handwriting. But then Rowan rotated the paper slightly, and—
A faint shimmer passed over the ink.
Chandler blinked. "What is that?"
Rowan's eyes glinted behind his glasses. "Reactive ink."
Cassian's brows furrowed. "Meaning?"
"It reacts to angles, heat, oils, or air exposure," Rowan said. "It's used in confidential documents. The kind that hide metadata inside the strokes of the letters."
My heart skipped.
"You're saying Elliot hid something inside the letter," I whispered.
Rowan nodded.
Chandler swore. "Why didn't he just SAY things normally?!"
Rowan shrugged. "Because he knew someone would read this if he was caught. And he knew Elleanore wouldn't notice the ink shift unless she showed it to people who actually paid attention."
Cassian flinched.
Horace looked at me, guilt flickering in his eyes—because he hadn't noticed it either.
Rowan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver device—something that looked suspiciously like a portable scanner.
"Where did you get that?" Chandler demanded.
"My house," Rowan answered.
"Why?" Chandler pressed.
"My house," Rowan repeated.
Cassian muttered, "You're insufferable."
Rowan ignored all of us and hovered the scanner over the letter.
The device hummed softly.
A series of faint symbols glowed underneath the original handwriting.
Not letters.
Not words.
Coordinates.
Horace's breath hitched. "That's… a location."
Rowan nodded. "Bottom-level grid coordinates. They're used for mapping corridors in restricted areas."
My pulse hammered.
Elliot had left a trail.
"Read it," Horace said quietly.
Rowan adjusted the device.
Numbers sharpened into view.
A-06 — L-3 — Sublevel East Wing
'Don't go alone.'
My breath caught.
Chandler paled. "Sublevel East? That place is practically abandoned."
Cassian shook his head. "No. It's monitored."
"Monitored by who?" Rowan asked.
Cassian hesitated—eyes darkening.
Horace stepped forward, gaze locked on Cassian. "Cassian. Answer him."
Cassian looked away briefly. His voice came out low, tight.
"The prefect corps," he said. "Only top-level prefects and certain staff members are allowed there. That includes… me."
Silence hit the room like a shockwave.
Chandler stood abruptly. "So YOU have access to the place Elliot warned her not to go near."
Cassian's jaw clenched. "I said I didn't touch him."
"And now you're telling us you had access to the exact corridor he marked in the letter," Chandler snapped.
Cassian's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't twist this."
"Then tell the truth!" Chandler barked. "Tell us what the hell is in Sublevel East!"
Cassian didn't answer.
His silence said too much.
Horace stepped between them, voice calm but razor-sharp. "Cassian. What is down there?"
Cassian looked away, jaw tightening as his throat worked through something he didn't want to say.
Finally—
"There's a… surveillance corridor," Cassian said quietly. "It monitors scent irregularities and movement patterns. It's used for evaluating unstable Alphas and Omegas who break suppression protocol."
Everything inside me went cold.
He continued.
"And there's a storage room."
He paused.
"For confiscated items."
Rowan's eyes narrowed. "Confiscated from who?"
More silence.
Cassian finally whispered:
"From students under investigation."
The air tightened.
Horace's voice dropped, dangerously calm. "Cassian… why didn't you tell us that before?"
Cassian's hand curled into a fist. "Because I wasn't supposed to."
A chill spread across my skin.
Rowan looked at me. "Elleanore. Elliot found something in that corridor. Something in the storage room."
Chandler swallowed hard. "Something worth dying over."
Cassian's head snapped up. "Don't say that."
"Why not?" Chandler snapped. "It's the truth—"
"It's NOT," Cassian growled. "Elliot didn't die. We don't KNOW what happened."
I flinched.
Cassian saw it.
His expression softened instantly.
"Elleanore," he said roughly, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to—"
"It's okay," I whispered.
Chandler shot Cassian a glare.
Horace stepped closer to me, grounding my shaking hands with just his presence.
"Elleanore," Horace said gently, "look at me."
I did.
His eyes softened.
"This is your choice," he said. "We can go to the Sublevel East corridor together. But only if you want to."
My chest trembled.
"And if I don't?" I whispered.
"Then we'll find another way," Horace said. "No pressure. No danger."
Chandler nodded. "We don't have to go anywhere scary. We can take a break. We can breathe."
Rowan sipped his tea. "Or we can stop pretending and follow the clue."
Cassian took a step forward, voice steady.
"Elleanore," he said quietly, "if you go down there… you need someone who knows the layout. Someone who's been there before."
Chandler's jaw tightened. "You mean you."
Cassian nodded. "Yes."
Chandler stood abruptly. "Hell no. No way in—"
"Chandler," I whispered.
He froze.
The room fell quiet.
Everyone waited.
My hands trembled, but my voice came out steady.
"I… want to know what Elliot found."
Horace inhaled slowly.
Chandler closed his eyes like he was bracing for impact.
Rowan smirked softly—as if the world was finally clicking into place.
Cassian nodded once, solemn.
Horace reached for the letter again and studied the coordinates.
"Then we prepare," he said quietly.
"Tonight," Rowan added. "Less staff. Fewer prefects."
Chandler pointed to Cassian. "If you even think of doing something shady—"
Cassian glared. "If I wanted to hurt her, I've had a hundred chances."
"You're not helping your case," Chandler muttered.
Horace ignored them both.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "you won't go alone. I'll be with you every second."
My throat tightened. "…I know."
Rowan tapped the coordinates again.
"Sublevel East," he murmured. "We're coming."
What none of us said aloud—
What hung in the air between us—
Was the truth:
Whoever Elliot was afraid of
will know we're coming too.
And they were already waiting.