For a long moment, no one spoke.
No one moved.
No one even breathed.
The name flickering on the screen—
partially corrupted, half-erased—
hung in the air like poison:
FR—T—N
(Royal Office Access)
Cassian stared.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Rowan stood very still, calculating possibilities faster than anyone could follow.
And Horace—
Horace didn't move at all.
He stood in front of the console like the ground beneath him had cracked open, eyes fixed on the corrupted name—
as if willing it to be wrong.
"Horace," I whispered carefully.
He didn't respond.
He kept staring at the screen, at the confirmation that someone with royal authority—
someone from his own bloodline—
logged my scent.
Chandler stepped toward him, eyebrows drawn tight.
"Horace—look at me."
Horace didn't turn.
Chandler tried again, sharper this time.
"Hey. Your Highness. Snap out of it."
Nothing.
Rowan exhaled softly.
"Oh, this is bad. He's dissociating."
Cassian glanced anxiously between us.
"Horace…?"
Finally, Horace blinked.
Slowly.
The sound he made wasn't a word—just a breath, harsh and uneven.
Then he turned his head toward me.
Not fully.
Just enough that his eyes—wide, pale, shaken—met mine.
"Elleanore," he said, voice soft and unsteady, "I didn't know."
My chest tightened.
"I know."
Horace shook his head slowly.
"No. You don't."
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly.
"The Royal Office," he whispered, "doesn't have casual access to student scent logs. Someone has to request that level of clearance. Someone has to sign off on it. Someone has to retrieve the profile."
He swallowed.
"Someone in my family."
Cassian set a hand cautiously on Horace's shoulder.
"That doesn't mean it was your father or mother—"
"No," Horace cut in sharply. "It means someone from the Frinton bloodline."
Rowan adjusted his glasses. "Could be a distant cousin. A council member. An advisor."
Horace's voice lowered, trembling in a way I'd never heard from him:
"It could be my brother."
A cold hush fell over us.
Chandler whispered, "You have a brother?"
Rowan rolled his eyes.
"Every royal has a shadow heir."
Horace didn't deny it.
"My older brother," he said quietly. "Lucian. He handles most of the internal affairs. The council listens to him more than anyone, even my father."
Cassian's expression darkened.
"And he would have access."
Horace nodded.
"Yes."
Rowan tapped the screen. "And he had a reason."
Cassian rounded on Rowan. "What reason?"
But Rowan didn't answer him.
He looked at me instead.
"Elleanore," Rowan said gently, "your scent doesn't just have compatibility markers. It also has something else."
My pulse quickened.
"What?"
Rowan took a breath.
"It carries dormant dominance markers."
Horace's head snapped around. "Rowan—"
"No," Rowan insisted. "She needs to know."
Chandler stepped closer to me protectively.
"Explain. Now."
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"There are Omega scents," he began, "that destabilize certain Alpha lines. Not in a dangerous way—but in a way that triggers instinctual… responses."
Cassian's jaw tightened.
"Meaning?"
Rowan looked uncomfortable for the first time.
"Meaning Elleanore's scent profile can trigger claiming instincts in certain lineage-specific Alphas—even if the Omega isn't presenting."
My breath caught.
Chandler's eyes widened.
"You're telling us her scent can make people go feral?!"
"No," Rowan said quickly. "Not feral. Just… reactive."
But Horace's expression said otherwise.
He whispered, "That's why Aiden locked onto her even through the suppressants."
Cassian's face paled.
"That's why Elliot reacted to the scent tests."
Rowan nodded.
"That's why he ran."
I swallowed hard.
"Why me?"
Rowan's voice lowered.
"Because your scent markers match the dormant markers in the Frinton bloodline."
My heart stopped.
Chandler stared in horror.
"You mean she's—"
"No," Rowan cut in before he could finish. "She's not related. Don't say it."
Chandler looked relieved.
"Okay, good. Because I was about to vomit."
"But," Rowan continued carefully, "she IS the rare kind of Omega that the Frinton line reacts to."
Horace didn't breathe.
"Elleanore…" Rowan said softly, "your scent is genetically compatible with the crown heir."
Horace finally spoke.
"Me."
His voice came out raw.
My heart twisted painfully.
Chandler swore again. "So what—your brother saw her profile and panicked?!"
Rowan shook his head.
"No. He saw her profile and saw an opportunity."
Cassian's tone sharpened. "What kind of opportunity?"
Rowan stared at the flickering name on the screen.
"To control the next royal heir."
Horace went still.
Completely.
As if Rowan had struck him in the heart.
"Elleanore," Rowan said gently, "if your scent triggers compatibility in both Frinton brothers… then whoever logs that profile first controls the future of the crown."
Cassian whispered, horrified, "A strategic Omega."
Chandler snapped, "She's NOT a strategy!"
Horace finally moved.
He took a step back, hand trembling, eyes darkening with something like horror—
and guilt.
"I would never let them use you," Horace murmured. "Never. I swear—"
But he stopped.
Because I stepped forward.
Quietly.
Deliberately.
"Horace."
He looked up at me instantly.
"I know this isn't you."
His breath hitched.
"I don't blame you," I said softly.
Horace let out a choked sound—half laugh, half sob—before pressing his hands against his temples.
"Elleanore, you don't understand—if it was Lucian—if he flagged your scent—then he already knows about Elliot. About you. About everything."
Cassian nodded grimly.
"He could be monitoring all our movements."
Rowan typed rapidly through the corrupted metadata. "Not could. He is."
Chandler looked between us all.
"So what do we do? Fight your royal brother? Sit around waiting for Aiden to break in again? Hope Julieta has a sudden personality change?"
Rowan pressed a few more keys.
"No."
He pointed at an encrypted section of the vault interface.
"This."
Cassian stiffened.
"What is that?"
Rowan smiled faintly, darkly.
"The compartment Elliot tried to open."
I froze.
Horace inhaled sharply.
"Elliot was in the vault?"
"Yes," Rowan said. "And he wasn't just trying to hide something."
His finger tapped the screen.
"He was trying to retrieve something."
Cassian typed his bloodline access.
The compartment glowed red—
Then unlocked.
A faint hiss echoed in the vault.
The drawer slid open.
Inside was a thin metal device, wrapped in a torn cloth.
My heart stuttered.
"…Elliot's," I whispered.
Cassian nodded.
Rowan leaned closer. "And this explains everything."
Chandler squinted. "A… digital drive?"
"No," Rowan corrected.
"A scent recorder."
Horace stiffened.
"Elleanore—don't touch it."
Cassian hesitated. "Rowan, why would Elliot hide a scent recorder here?"
Rowan swallowed.
"Because someone used it on him."
A silence fell over the vault.
Then Rowan gently lifted the recorder and activated the tiny cracked screen.
A date glowed.
A timestamp.
The night Elliot disappeared.
My breath caught.
Horace grabbed my arm instinctively.
Cassian stepped closer.
Chandler whispered, "Press play."
Rowan hesitated, then clicked the button—
BEEP.
Static.
A sharp inhalation.
The sound of someone stumbling.
Then a voice.
Elliot's.
"He's coming. They—they know. Elleanore—don't—don't trust—"
A loud crash.
A gasp—
cut short.
Then another voice.
Deep.
Steady.
Chillingly familiar.
"Subject B neutralized. Proceeding to next phase."
The recorder cut off.
My knees buckled.
Horace caught me before I hit the floor.
"Elliot…"
My voice shattered.
Cassian flinched violently.
"No. No—"
Chandler punched the nearest pillar so hard the metal dented.
Rowan slowly lowered the recorder.
His expression was grave.
"Elleanore," he said softly.
The room felt too quiet.
Too heavy.
Rowan met my eyes.
"That voice," he whispered, "was a Frinton."
Horace stiffened.
Cassian inhaled sharply.
Chandler froze.
Rowan finished:
"It wasn't Aiden.
It wasn't Julieta.
It wasn't the Headmaster."
He swallowed.
"It was royalty."
The vault felt smaller.
The air felt thinner.
My heart felt like it was trying to break out of my ribs.
Cassian whispered, barely audible, "Your brother, Horace…?"
Horace didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because deep down—
we all already knew.
What Elliot Recorded
For several seconds after the recording ended, no one moved.
The faint static still hummed from the scent recorder, lingering in the vault like a ghost refusing to leave.
Cassian stared at the floor, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.
Chandler stood frozen with his fist embedded in dented metal.
Rowan lowered the device with slow, deliberate hands.
And Horace—
Horace looked like someone had sliced the ground out from under him.
His breathing was shallow.
His eyes wide, unfocused.
His fingers curled at his sides like he was holding himself together by force.
I reached for him instinctively.
"Horace—"
He flinched.
Not from fear.
From pain.
"Elleanore…"
His voice cracked.
"That voice. That was—"
He couldn't finish.
Rowan did, quietly but firmly.
"Lucian."
Horace squeezed his eyes shut as if the name itself hurt him.
"My brother," he whispered. "My own brother."
Chandler exhaled sharply. "Okay, everyone stay calm—"
"No." Horace's voice cut like glass. "Don't tell me to stay calm."
The temperature in the vault felt like it dropped.
Horace ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands—something he never did, not even when furious.
"I knew he was ambitious," Horace whispered, voice hollow.
"I knew he disagreed with my father.
I knew he believed the crown needed more… control."
He swallowed.
"But I never thought he would experiment on students."
Cassian looked at him sharply.
"He didn't experiment on students. He experimented on Elliot."
My heart twisted painfully.
Horace sank a hand against the nearest pillar, bracing himself.
"Elleanore," he said softly. "If Lucian flagged your scent… if he logged Elliot… if he activated Aiden…"
He looked up then.
Straight at me.
And for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.
"Then he's been looking for you since the start."
My breath caught.
Rowan tapped the recorder lightly.
"There's more."
Cassian snapped his head up. "More?!"
Rowan nodded.
"This recorder has two memory layers. One for surface capture. One for embedded capture—Elliot enabled both."
I froze.
"You mean," I whispered, "Elliot left more than one message?"
Rowan nodded again.
Chandler frowned. "Why didn't the second play?"
"It's encoded," Rowan replied. "Probably for safety. Or secrecy."
Cassian rubbed his face. "Can you unlock it?"
Rowan stared at the device.
His eyes softened.
"Yes," he said finally. "But I need time. And a steady surface."
He walked to one of the vault tables and set the recorder down carefully.
His fingers moved with gentle precision—like he was touching something sacred.
He keyed in a partial bypass code, then paused.
Before he continued, he turned toward me.
"Elleanore," he said quietly. "Whatever is in this message… it's for you."
My heart stuttered.
Cassian stepped closer, voice low.
"Rowan. Be gentle."
"I know," Rowan murmured.
Chandler crossed his arms, jaw tense.
"If this message upsets her—"
Rowan raised a brow lightly.
"Oh, it will upset her. It will upset all of us."
Horace approached slowly. "Start it."
Rowan nodded.
"Activating secondary memory layer… now."
He pressed the button.
BEEP.
Static.
A faint rustle.
A shaky breath.
Then—
Elliot's voice.
But softer than before.
Weaker.
As if he'd hidden the recorder in his clothes.
"If you're hearing this… I'm already gone."
My hand flew to my mouth.
Chandler grabbed the table with both hands.
Cassian's head bowed.
Horace's shoulders tightened.
Elliot continued:
"Elle… you can't stay here."
My breath trembled.
"Someone knows about you. About what you are."
Horace stiffened.
"They didn't want me. They wanted you."
I felt my chest collapse inward.
Elliot's voice cracked.
"I tried to stall them. I tried to hide it. I tried to pull attention away from you."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Cassian turned away, fist shaking.
"But he found me."
A soft gasp.
A scuffle against the mic.
"He… he smelled you on me."
My knees nearly buckled.
Horace steadied me quickly, his hand gripping my arm firmly.
"He asked where you were. What you looked like. What your scent profile meant."
Chandler slammed his fist against the table again.
"Bastard—"
"I didn't tell him anything."
Elliot's voice broke.
"I swear, Elle. I didn't tell him anything."
Tears blurred my vision.
"But he already knew."
The room felt suffocating.
"He knew I wasn't the Omega."
My stomach dropped.
Horace whispered, "Elleanore…"
"He said I was a waste. That the wrong twin was chosen."
A sob tore from my throat.
Cassian whipped around, eyes red.
Chandler cursed under his breath, fists shaking.
Rowan's grip tightened around the table edge.
Elliot's voice dropped lower.
"Don't trust the one who smells like cold metal."
My blood froze.
Cold metal.
Cold metal.
Chandler whispered, "Cold metal scent…?"
Cassian's eyes widened.
"The Royal Office uses cold-metal suppressants."
Rowan's mouth parted.
"Which means—"
Horace whispered the name.
"Lucian."
Elliot's voice trembled.
"Elle… run."
A struggle.
Footsteps.
A gasp.
Then the last line—
ragged, terrified, forced out between breaths:
"He knows your scent."
The recorder clicked off.
Silence flooded the vault.
I didn't realize I was crying until Horace brushed a tear from my cheek with shaking fingers.
"Elleanore," he murmured, voice breaking, "I'm so sorry."
Cassian turned away completely, wiping roughly at his eyes.
Chandler leaned against the pillar, head bowed.
Rowan exhaled shakily.
"At least now we know."
Horace lifted his head.
"Know what?"
Rowan met his eyes.
"Lucian didn't just want her scent," Rowan said softly.
He looked straight at me.
"He wanted her."
My breath stopped.
Rowan continued:
"And Elliot died trying to hide her from him."
The room stood still.
Cassian whispered, "So what do we do now?"
Rowan didn't hesitate.
"We fight back."
Horace nodded slowly, fiercely.
"And we protect her."
Chandler stepped forward.
"Together."
Cassian stepped beside him.
"For Elliot."
Then Horace stepped into my space—
Close enough that his warmth chased away the cold settling in my bones.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "I will not let him take you."
His voice trembled—but his eyes were firm.
"You're not alone anymore."
I nodded—because my voice wouldn't come out.
And in that moment—
I believed him.
Even if the entire royal bloodline turned against us.
Even if Lucian himself came to claim what he thought belonged to him.
Even if the Academy tried to erase every trace of Elliot—
I wasn't alone.
Not anymore.