The Academy was never silent at night.
Even past curfew, the buildings hummed with faint energy—security lights flickering under vaulted ceilings, ventilation systems buzzing through the lower floors, and the subtle echo of footsteps from prefects patrolling the halls.
But tonight felt different.
Too still.
Too cold.
Too aware.
Like the entire campus was holding its breath, waiting for us to make a wrong move.
Horace walked beside me, silent and alert. Chandler hovered near my left shoulder like a personal storm cloud, arms tense, eyes sharper than usual. Rowan walked ahead with the map pulled up on a dimmed tablet, humming faintly as if we weren't about to break into one of the most restricted places in the Academy.
Cassian led the way.
And that alone made my stomach twist.
He moved with a calm, practiced confidence—like he knew exactly which staircase to avoid, exactly which hallway had a blind spot, exactly how long the next prefect patrol took before looping back.
At one point, Chandler whispered sharply, "How are you THIS familiar with the restricted routes?"
Cassian didn't slow. "It was my job."
"Right," Chandler muttered. "Because somehow Elliot just magically ended up investigating the one place YOU were assigned to."
Cassian froze mid-step.
He didn't turn around, but his voice came out low.
"You want to throw accusations at me?" Cassian said. "Fine. Do it when she isn't in danger."
Chandler opened his mouth to retort—
But I lightly touched his arm.
"Chandler," I whispered. "Not now."
He exhaled hard and nodded.
Cassian finally moved again.
Rowan smirked. "I love group tension. Very motivating."
Horace shot him a warning look. "Rowan."
"What?" Rowan muttered. "I'm not wrong."
We reached the entrance to the Sublevel East staircase.
To anyone else, it looked like a simple service door.
To Cassian, it looked like memory.
He scanned a keycard against the lock.
A soft click echoed.
Chandler frowned. "You still have access?"
Cassian didn't meet his eyes. "I never turned it in."
Horace's voice hardened. "Cassian…"
Cassian finally looked back at us.
"Do you want to get inside," he said quietly, "or not?"
Silence.
Then Rowan reached forward and opened the door.
Cold air rushed out, brushing against my skin with a chill that felt wrong.
Like something waiting in the dark had just exhaled.
Descent
The staircase spiraled down into shadows.
The walls changed from polished stone to older concrete—gray, worn, almost industrial. The air thinned. The lights dimmed to a dull orange glow.
I felt the shift immediately.
Every part of me tightened with instinct.
Horace noticed.
"You okay?" he murmured.
I nodded, even though I wasn't.
Rowan tapped the side of the wall. "Air filtration down here is weaker. That means scents linger longer."
Cassian nodded. "Exactly."
Chandler muttered, "Fantastic. Just what we need."
The corridor at the bottom stretched long and narrow—barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
Metal grates lined the floor.
Pipes crossed the ceiling.
The hum of machines echoed faintly.
Horace stepped in front of me, shielding me as the door closed behind us.
Rowan studied the map. "The coordinates Elliot left—A-06, L-3—they should be down this way."
Cassian led again.
I stayed close to Horace.
Too close.
Close enough that when he slowed, I nearly bumped into his back. His hand instinctively reached back, steadying me with a light touch on my arm.
"Careful," he murmured.
My heart tightened.
Chandler noticed.
His glare at Horace could've cracked concrete.
The Scent That Shouldn't Exist
Halfway down the hallway, Rowan suddenly stopped walking.
"Wait."
Chandler perked up. "What now?"
Rowan closed his eyes… and inhaled.
Cassian tensed immediately.
"What do you smell?" Cassian demanded.
Rowan's brows furrowed.
"Not sure yet. But it's familiar."
Horace stiffened. "Familiar how?"
Rowan inhaled again—slow, deliberate.
Then he said something that made my stomach lurch:
"Alpha scent. Old. Faint. Very faint."
Chandler frowned. "There are a hundred alphas at this school."
Cassian shook his head, expression darkening. "Not like this."
Rowan nodded. "Not like this."
Horace whispered, "Elliot?"
My heart nearly stopped.
Rowan shook his head. "No. Not Elliot. But…"
His voice trailed off.
"But whoever he was with," he finished softly.
The hallway suddenly felt smaller.
Colder.
Heavier.
And for the first time since entering, I felt something deep in my chest—
A chill that wasn't fear.
Something else.
Something wrong.
Horace instinctively reached for me again. "Elleanore?"
I swallowed.
"I'm okay," I whispered.
But I wasn't.
Cassian walked forward carefully, scanning the walls with his eyes.
"There used to be a scent-testing unit here," he said. "A place used to analyze scent profiles of students with irregular reactions."
Rowan snapped his fingers. "Which means all the scent traces from anyone who entered would get stored here."
Chandler's eyes widened. "Wait. You're saying—"
Cassian nodded grimly.
"Someone could've used this corridor to track Elliot."
My chest tightened.
Horace's jaw clenched. "Let's move."
A Door That Shouldn't Be Open
The coordinates Rowan followed led us deeper down the hallway until we reached a door at the very end.
It was small.
Unmarked.
Almost hidden.
Cassian stared at it, jaw tightening.
"I've never seen that open," he whispered.
Chandler frowned. "What do you mean?"
Cassian stepped closer. "When I was prefect… this door was always locked. Double-sealed. Only staff could open it."
Rowan inspected the lock.
"It's broken," Rowan said.
Horace stiffened. "Broken how?"
"Mechanically overridden," Rowan murmured. "Not with a keycard. Someone jammed the internal lock."
Chandler breathed out. "So someone broke in."
Cassian nodded.
"Or broke out," Rowan added.
My heart pounded harder.
Horace lifted a hand toward me. "Stay behind me."
I nodded tightly.
He pushed the door open slowly.
Inside was pitch-black.
No lights.
No windows.
Just a yawning dark space that felt almost alive.
Cassian flicked on a small flashlight from his uniform.
The beam cut through the darkness—revealing a small room barely the size of a storage closet.
Chandler peeked in. "What the hell…?"
The room was empty.
Completely empty.
But the walls…
The walls were covered in deep scratches.
Marks.
Like someone had clawed at them.
My breath stuttered.
Horace inhaled sharply. "Dear God…"
Rowan stepped forward, tracing one of the scratches carefully.
"They're recent," he murmured. "Fresh marks."
Cassian crouched down. "Look at the floor."
Horace lowered the flashlight.
Scratches covered the floor as well.
Claw marks.
Fingernail marks.
Chandler whispered, voice shaking for the first time ever:
"Someone was locked in here."
Rowan nodded slowly. "Not locked."
He stood.
"Held."
I felt like my lungs had turned to ice.
Horace's voice was quiet, hollow. "Elleanore… this is where Elliot came."
I gripped his sleeve without realizing it.
"Why?" I whispered. "What did he find?"
Rowan moved to the far corner of the room and crouched down.
There—
Barely visible—
Was a tiny scrap of paper wedged into the base of the wall.
"Wait," Rowan said. "There's something here."
Cassian moved beside him. "Let me see."
Rowan carefully pulled it free.
Horace leaned in.
Chandler held his breath.
I felt my heart stop.
Rowan unfolded the scrap.
And written in Elliot's messy handwriting was a single line:
"He knows she's here."
Everything inside me froze.
Horace looked at me instantly.
"Elleanore," he whispered, "we have to leave. Now."
Chandler stood abruptly. "He? Who is HE?"
Rowan's eyes widened—not with confusion, but realization.
Cassian's entire face drained of color.
"Elleanore," he said, voice breaking for the first time, "we need to get you out of here now—"
"Why?" Chandler barked. "What's happening?!"
Cassian swallowed hard.
Because in that moment—
We all understood something terrifying:
Elliot didn't run because he was curious.
He didn't disappear because he was unlucky.
He was hunted.
And the person who hunted him—
knew exactly who I was.
Run Before He Finds You
For one suspended second, none of us moved.
Not Rowan.
Not Chandler.
Not Cassian.
Not even Horace.
The only thing that moved was the scrap of paper fluttering faintly between Rowan's fingers.
"He knows she's here."
Elliot wrote that.
Inside this room.
Seconds—maybe minutes—before he vanished.
My heart hammered painfully in my ribs. Every part of me felt cold and hot at once, like I was burning from the inside out.
Horace reacted first.
He grabbed my wrist—not rough, not panicked, but firm and decisive.
"We're leaving," he said. "Now."
Chandler jumped to his feet. "Leaving? No—WE NEED TO FIGURE OUT WHO 'HE' IS—"
Rowan cut him off sharply.
"No. Right now we need to get Elleanore out of this hallway before whoever Elliot meant comes back."
Cassian's voice was low, controlled in the way someone sounds when they're seconds away from losing control.
"Elleanore shouldn't be down here. She shouldn't even be near this place. If Elliot knew someone was looking for her—"
Chandler rounded on him. "You knew this hall, you knew the layout, you knew about the surveillance—what else do you know?!"
Cassian's jaw twitched, but he didn't snap back.
Not this time.
Instead, he looked straight at me.
"Elleanore," he said quietly, "do you remember anyone following you? Anyone who looked at you too long? Anyone who lingered behind you after curfew?"
My throat closed.
I thought about Rowan's warning.
About the scent specialists watching me.
About Cassian's strange behavior.
About Chandler's protectiveness.
About Horace's unease around the Headmaster.
But this was different.
This was Elliot writing a message with shaking hands in a room someone clawed to get out of.
"I…"
My voice broke.
"I don't know."
Horace squeezed my wrist gently, guiding me toward the door.
"We'll piece it together later. Right now—move."
We stepped out of the scratched-up room.
That was when we heard it.
A distant beep.
Rowan stiffened. "…Uh-oh."
Chandler's grip tightened on the flashlight. "What do you mean 'uh-oh'?!"
Rowan pointed upward. "Listen."
We all froze.
Beep.
Pause.
Beep.
Pause.
Beepbeepbeep—
Rowan swore under his breath. "Security's coming."
Cassian spun on his heel. "How fast?"
Rowan checked the tablet. "Five minutes before they sweep this hall."
Chandler groaned. "Fantastic."
Horace didn't hesitate.
"Up the stairs. Run."
I'd never heard his voice like that—sharp, commanding, edged with an authority that came from more than just being a prince.
We ran.
The corridor suddenly felt twice as long. The air felt heavier. Every sound felt too loud—our footsteps echoing across metal grates, the hum of the old lights flickering above us, my own heartbeat pounding against my ribs.
Rowan pulled ahead, guiding us through the maze.
Cassian stayed close behind me, shoulder almost brushing mine, ready to catch me if I slipped.
Chandler ran on my other side, constantly twisting back to check behind us—watching for movement, for shadows, for anyone following.
Horace stayed in front, clearing the path, checking every corner before letting us turn.
Halfway down the hall, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
thud
Something metal slammed shut somewhere deeper in the sublevel.
My breath caught.
"Was that—"
"Security doors," Rowan said. "Automatic lockdown. They're sealing lower sectors."
Cassian swore. "They know we're here."
"Not us," Rowan corrected.
"Elleanore."
My knees almost buckled mid-run.
Chandler grabbed my elbow to steady me. "Don't listen to him—he's saying it to keep us running."
Rowan didn't deny it.
But Cassian did.
"No," Cassian said, voice low. "Rowan's right. They're not scanning for us. They're scanning for her. Elliot warned her because he knew someone would come back for her. And if they saw us on the cameras—"
"They didn't," Rowan cut in. "This hallway is from before the Academy upgrade. No active cameras."
Chandler blinked. "So the scratches—someone was stuck here and no one knew?"
Rowan nodded. "Exactly."
My stomach twisted painfully.
"Go left," Rowan shouted.
Horace led us through a sharp turn.
We ran up another narrow set of stairs and burst into a slightly wider corridor—still underground but closer to the main campus levels.
Cassian pulled something from his jacket—a small silver key.
Chandler's eyes widened. "What is that?"
"Emergency bypass," Cassian said. "It overrides internal doors."
He slammed it into a control panel by the stairwell door.
The door hissed open.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You really did keep everything, didn't you?"
Cassian ignored him. "Move."
We ran up one more flight.
Almost there.
I could feel it.
I could smell the faint trace of open air—not fresh, but cleaner than the recycled underground ventilation.
Then—
Just as we reached the last landing—
The alarm changed.
A deeper tone.
Louder.
More urgent.
Rowan froze mid-step.
"Oh, no."
His voice dropped.
"This isn't a sweep alarm."
Chandler grabbed his sleeve. "What is it?!"
Rowan turned pale.
"This is a target-lock alarm."
Cassian swore. "Damn it."
Horace spun around to face me.
"Elleanore," he said quietly but urgently, "look at me."
I did.
His eyes were sharp, steady, unshaking—terrifying in their intensity.
"They know," he whispered. "They know you're not Elliot."
My heart stopped.
Cassian stepped forward. "Horace—"
"No," Horace said, voice cutting through everything. "She needs to hear this."
Chandler's face drained of color. "You mean—"
"Yes." Rowan's tone dropped as he looked at the alarm lights. "They know a female is in the restricted sublevel."
My knees almost buckled.
A hand steadied me.
Horace's.
All four boys immediately tightened formation around me.
Chandler moved behind me.
Cassian moved to my right shoulder.
Rowan stepped slightly ahead.
Horace stood in front.
A protective square.
I'd never felt so guarded—and so terrified.
"Elleanore," Horace said, voice steady but firm, "from this moment forward, you do not speak to anyone alone. You do not walk anywhere alone. You do not answer questions alone."
He took a step closer.
"You stay with me. Always."
Something in my chest cracked open.
"Why?" My voice shook. "Why now?"
Cassian inhaled slowly. "Because if they know you're a Beta or Omega disguised as an Alpha—"
Rowan finished, voice grim—
"—then whoever hunted Elliot is coming back to finish what he started."
The hallway lights flickered again.
Footsteps echoed from above.
Multiple footsteps.
Security.
Staff.
Prefects.
Chandler swore. "What do we do now?!"
Horace turned toward the staircase leading to the main floor.
He held out his hand to me.
"We run," he said.
I grabbed his hand.
Because running was no longer a choice.
It was survival.