The hallway we escaped into was narrow, dim, and too quiet.
Aiden's last echo against the sealed archive door still vibrated in my bones.
Omega.
The word had felt distant for so long—something theoretical, something hidden under suppression and lies. Now it chased me through the Academy like a predator with my name carved into its teeth.
Horace didn't let go of my wrist as we moved down the corridor. His grip wasn't too tight, but it was firm—steady, grounding. Chandler stayed close on my left, Cassian on my right, Rowan behind us typing nonstop into his tablet.
None of us spoke for several minutes.
It wasn't silence.
It was pressure.
Like everyone was processing the same thought but too afraid to say it:
Elliot wasn't just warning me.
He was leading me.
Down a path he never got to finish.
Rowan finally broke the silence. "We need to find where Elliot went last."
Cassian inhaled sharply. "The vault wasn't his final stop."
"What do you mean?" I asked quietly.
Cassian slowed at the corner. "Elliot was smart. If he knew someone was hunting him—especially someone with scent tracking access—he would've left more than one trail."
Chandler frowned. "You really think he had time? He sounded—"
He stopped.
He didn't want to say terrified.
Rowan said it for him.
"Desperate."
I swallowed.
Horace stopped at a junction, checking both sides cautiously. "The prefect patrols will sweep this area next. We need to move."
Cassian pointed. "We go left."
Rowan shook his head. "No, Cassian. Left takes us toward the Faculty wing—too monitored."
Cassian countered. "Right leads straight into the open courtyard. There's nowhere to hide."
Chandler smirked humorlessly. "So we're screwed either way. Nice."
I took a breath.
"Cassian… where would Elliot go? Not you. Not Rowan. Not Horace. Elliot."
Cassian froze.
Chandler blinked. "Damn. That's… actually a good point."
Rowan nodded slowly. "Elliot knew how to move unseen. If he wanted to leave a clue, he'd do it somewhere only Elleanore could interpret."
Horace added, "He would've gone somewhere familiar to both of you."
Cassian rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "Somewhere that connected their scents. Somewhere—wait."
He froze.
Everyone looked at him.
"Cassian?" Horace asked.
Cassian's eyes widened. "The east rooftop."
Rowan's head snapped up. "The what?"
"The east rooftop," Cassian repeated. "The one above the old greenhouse. It has open airflow and wind drifts from the lake. Aiden couldn't scent-track properly there."
Chandler frowned. "Why would Elliot go there?"
Cassian turned to me.
"Elleanore used to meet Elliot there during campus tours," Cassian said softly. "Before he enrolled. You told him the view reminded you of home."
I went still.
I barely remembered telling Elliot that.
But he remembered.
He always remembered.
Horace looked at me gently. "Is that true?"
My chest tightened. "Yes."
Rowan tapped quickly into his tablet. "Rooftop access should still be bypass-able. I can override the greenhouse locks."
Chandler cracked his neck. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Cassian exhaled shakily. "Let's go."
Moving Through the Academy
We headed right—quietly, quickly, staying pressed against walls whenever we heard prefect boots echoing nearby.
The Academy felt alive in a way I'd never noticed before. Not warm or alive like a home—but alive like something watching us from behind every light fixture and camera lens.
Horace walked slightly ahead, his posture sharp, eyes scanning constantly. Not once did he break focus. Not once did he miss a shadow or a stray sound.
But every few steps, he glanced back at me—just to make sure I was still behind him.
Cassian moved with stiff shoulders and uneven breaths, guilt hanging off him like weight.
Chandler kept muttering curses about Lucian under his breath.
Rowan typed so fast the clicking felt like another heartbeat.
We reached the greenhouse corridor.
Glass panels.
Dim moonlight.
Empty tables filled with plant remains.
A few cracked windows letting in gusts of cold air.
I shivered.
Horace immediately shrugged off his uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders before I could protest. "Don't argue."
I didn't.
Chandler snorted. "Spoiled."
Horace glared. "Jealous."
Chandler flipped him off without looking.
Cassian whispered, "Focus."
Rowan found the maintenance door at the back of the greenhouse and knelt in front of the keypad.
"This will take a minute."
Cassian stood guard.
Horace moved beside me.
Chandler paced.
I stared at the glass roof above.
Elliot had stood here.
Maybe frightened.
Maybe shaking.
Maybe bleeding.
But he still climbed.
Still fought.
Still left something behind for me.
The thought made my throat ache.
Horace noticed.
"Elleanore."
His voice softened.
"You don't have to be strong right now."
I swallowed. "If I'm not strong, I'll fall apart."
He shook his head.
"Then fall apart later. Not now."
Chandler stopped pacing.
"Horace, that's not how humans work—"
Cassian snapped, "Chandler, shut up."
Rowan finally stood.
"Got it."
The maintenance door clicked open with a metallic clank.
We all tensed.
"Let's go," Horace said.
The Hidden Staircase
The staircase behind the door was narrow, slightly rusted, spiraling upward. The air smelled like dust and forgotten things.
Cassian moved first.
Then Horace and me.
Chandler behind me.
Rowan last.
Each step creaked faintly.
Each breath echoed.
Halfway up, Chandler whispered:
"So… is nobody else freaked out by how horror-movie this staircase feels?"
"No," Rowan said dryly. "Just you."
Cassian murmured, "We're close."
At the top of the stairs, a metal door waited—
slightly ajar.
My breath hitched.
Horace motioned for silence and pushed it open slowly.
Moonlight flooded in.
The rooftop.
Wide, quiet, open.
Moonlight reflecting off the lake below.
The glass greenhouse roof glowing faintly beneath us.
Cold wind whipping across the tiles.
It was beautiful.
And painfully familiar.
Elliot's silhouette flashed in my mind—
sitting at the edge, legs dangling, smiling at the view.
I stepped forward without realizing it.
"Elleanore," Horace warned softly.
"It's okay," I whispered. "I'm okay."
But I wasn't.
Not when I saw it.
Elliot's Mark
Near the far railing—
scratched into the rooftop tile, faint but visible—
was Elliot's handwriting.
Three letters.
Crooked.
Shaky.
Carved in a hurry.
ELF
→
My stomach twisted.
"ELF."
Rowan stepped beside me. "Elliot L. Fonze."
Chandler frowned. "What's the arrow for? Pointing where?"
Cassian moved slowly, following the arrow's direction.
"It's pointing toward the lake."
Rowan looked at his map.
"Below this rooftop, there's a maintenance room connected to the lake filtration system. Old one. Disconnected years ago."
Cassian nodded.
"Elliot knew that. He studied the campus blueprints obsessively before enrolling."
Chandler walked to the edge, peering down.
"Okay, genius. How do we get down there? Jump? I'm flattered, but Elleanore's not sprouting wings."
Rowan pointed at a ventilation shaft.
"There's a ladder down that leads to the filtration level."
Horace turned to me.
"Elleanore," he said gently. "Do you want to follow this? It might get dangerous."
I met his eyes.
"Everything's already dangerous."
He didn't argue.
He just took my hand.
"Then we follow it."
The Descent
The ventilation shaft was colder than the rooftop—air rushing up like the building was breathing.
Cassian went first.
Then Chandler.
Then Horace guided me down.
Rowan last.
We reached a narrow walkway overlooking a wide, dark room. It smelled like stale water and rust.
Rowan shined his tablet light across the space.
Pipes.
Broken filtration tanks.
Abandoned equipment.
Faint scratches on the floor.
Then Cassian whispered—
"Elleanore… look."
We followed his gaze.
There, on a rusted metal beam—
another set of carved marks.
"Elle — don't—"
The message cut off suddenly, the metal scratched violently as if he was dragged away.
My breath punched out of me.
Chandler swore softly.
Cassian closed his eyes, pained.
Rowan whispered, "He tried to write more."
Horace moved closer to me, voice low.
"Elleanore."
I shook my head, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
"He was here," I whispered.
"Suffering. Alone."
Chandler touched the beam gently. "He fought."
Cassian's voice broke. "He fought for you."
Horace reached for my hand.
"Elleanore… Elliot led us here. There must be more."
Rowan stepped forward, scanning the floor. "Wait—there's something else."
We all looked.
Rowan crouched beside a pile of loose tiles.
He lifted them—
And froze.
"Found it."
Cassian stiffened. "Found what?"
Rowan held up something small.
Metal.
Silver.
A charm.
My breath caught.
It was Elliot's.
His bracelet charm.
The one missing when they found his belongings.
A tiny engraved shape—
A snowdrop flower.
My favorite.
Elliot always said it reminded him of me.
Horace let out a shaky breath.
Chandler whispered, "He left it for her."
Cassian sank to his knees, staring at it like it was holy.
"Elleanore," Rowan said softly, "this isn't just a clue."
I looked at him, heart pounding.
"This," Rowan continued, "is his last message."
The Snowdrop's Secret
The abandoned filtration chamber was cold enough to sting my cheeks.
Silent enough to hear each other breathe.
Dark enough that Rowan's tablet felt like our only connection to reality.
But none of those things mattered.
Not compared to the small charm lying in Rowan's palm.
Elliot's snowdrop.
The charm he'd worn every day.
The charm he used to fidget with when he was nervous.
The charm he'd promised he'd never lose, "because it's my good luck piece."
And now it sat in Rowan's hand—
cold
silent
found in a place he'd never meant to die.
My knees felt weak.
Rowan held it out carefully.
"Elleanore… you should be the one to open it."
I stepped forward slowly, hands trembling before I even touched it.
The charm was cold.
Heavier than it looked.
Edges a little scratched.
Chandler looked away, jaw tight.
Cassian bowed his head, hands clenched so hard they shook.
Horace stood beside me, close but not touching—
eyes soft, steady, protective.
"What if there's nothing inside?" I whispered.
Rowan answered, almost gently.
"Elliot didn't leave anything behind by accident."
I took a shaky breath and turned the tiny latch at the top.
It clicked open—
—but the charm didn't split in half.
Instead, the bottom twisted, revealing a tiny hidden compartment.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
So small it could fit on a fingertip.
My heart climbed up my throat.
Cassian whispered, "He hid something. He hid it where no one would think to check."
Chandler stepped closer. "What does it say?"
Hands shaking, I unfolded the paper.
It was ripped.
Faded.
But still legible.
Three words.
Scrawled in a hurried, trembling hand.
"Don't trust him."
My breath caught.
Rowan leaned in. "There's more. The tear isn't natural."
Horace inhaled sharply.
"Elleanore—turn it over."
I did.
On the back were faint pencil marks—
letters started but erased
as if Elliot had tried again
and again
and again
but kept being stopped.
Rowan adjusted the light.
The faintest outline appeared.
"Fr—"
Cassian froze.
"No."
Chandler swore violently.
"You've got to be kidding—"
Rowan whispered, "He was trying to write 'Frinton.'"
Horace said nothing.
He didn't have to.
His silence was enough.
Memories in the Dark
I held the note like it was a living thing—fragile, trembling, heartbroken.
"Don't trust him."
Not them.
Not himself.
Not anyone.
Him.
Specific.
Targeted.
Intentional.
"Fr—"
There was only one Frinton Elliot knew.
Lucian.
Chandler cursed under his breath again, turning in a full circle like he was ready to punch the air. "So the bastard really did hunt him."
Cassian looked sick.
"He chased Elliot to this spot."
Rowan nodded.
"He dragged him away before he could finish writing the name."
My stomach twisted so hard I felt dizzy.
Horace stepped closer, voice soft.
"Elleanore… we don't have to continue—"
"I want to," I whispered.
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
Cassian moved toward the edge of the walkway and pointed to faint grooves in the rusted floor.
Scratches.
Deep ones.
Fresh when Elliot made them.
"He clawed at the floor," Cassian murmured. "Trying to stay. Trying to leave a message."
Chandler shut his eyes.
"God…"
I swallowed hard.
Elliot fought here.
Alone.
Terrified.
Knowing he wouldn't survive.
But he still tried to warn me.
"Don't trust him."
I repeated it under my breath.
Horace looked at me with pain in his eyes.
"That message wasn't meant to hurt you."
I wiped my eyes quickly. "I know."
"He wrote it because he loved you."
I nodded.
"I know."
Chandler added quietly, "And he was right."
Rowan gently took the charm from my hand and examined the mechanism. "This compartment… it wasn't standard. Elliot modified the charm himself. He hid the note in a place only you would ever look."
Cassian lowered his head. "He knew they'd search him."
Rowan nodded grimly. "And they did."
Horace stepped beside me. "I'm sorry you're hearing all of this like this."
I shook my head.
"You're not the one I don't trust."
Horace went still.
Chandler muttered, "As long as we're not talking about Horace, we're good. I need him alive so I don't have to fight prefects alone."
Cassian snorted despite himself.
Rowan pointed toward a rusted ladder.
"Come. There's one more thing Elliot might have done."
The Hidden Panel
We climbed down to the lower part of the filtration room—
a space even darker, colder, and more abandoned.
Rowan used his tablet light again.
"Elliot wouldn't leave only one clue," he said. "If he knew he was running out of time, he'd leave a secondary mark."
Cassian scanned the walls. "He knew these rooms better than most students. He snuck in here once to avoid a scent test."
Rowan pointed at the far left wall.
"Check there."
Chandler frowned. "Why there?"
"Because the airflow is strongest," Rowan explained. "Ventilation during his escape would've drawn his scent there. Aiden would've followed the heavier trail. Elliot would've avoided it."
Horace nodded. "He'd move in the opposite direction."
We followed the wall.
Dust.
Rust.
Old piping.
Then—
Cassian crouched suddenly.
"Here."
We all rushed over.
At the base of the wall, hidden behind a loose metal panel, was something lodged in the crack.
Something small.
Something dark.
Something neatly folded.
Cassian carefully pulled it out.
A cloth.
A torn piece of Elliot's uniform sleeve.
Chandler inhaled sharply. "Is that—"
Rowan nodded.
"Blood."
My breath trembled.
Cassian slowly unfolded the cloth.
Inside was another piece of paper.
Larger this time.
Folded twice.
Stained.
But intact.
Horace whispered, "He hid two messages…"
Rowan nodded.
"He knew the charm might be discovered. This was his backup."
Cassian handed it to me with trembling fingers.
"Elleanore," he said quietly, "you read it."
My hands shook as I opened it.
The handwriting was rushed.
Uneven.
Scattered.
But clear.
"Elle, listen.
Don't trust the one who smells like cold metal.
He's not here for the Academy.
He's here for you.
He knows your scent."
My breath caught.
Cassian closed his eyes in pain.
Chandler whispered, "Cold metal… that's—"
Horace's voice dropped low.
"…Lucian's scent. Replicated from the Royal Office suppressants."
My stomach plummeted.
Rowan said softly, "It wasn't Aiden who dragged Elliot away."
Cassian whispered, broken:
"It was Lucian."
Horace didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
He just stared at Elliot's message—
and something inside him shifted.
Not pain.
Not guilt.
Not shock.
Resolve.
"Elleanore," he said quietly.
I looked up at him.
"We are not running anymore."
Chandler stepped forward. "Finally."
Cassian nodded. "We fight."
Rowan added, "And we reveal everything."
Horace's gaze stayed locked on me—
steady, fierce, unshakable.
"We follow Elliot's path to the end," he said.
"No matter where it leads."
My heart trembled.
"Even if it leads to him?"
Horace stepped closer.
Close enough that I could feel his breath warm against my forehead.
"Especially if it leads to him."
My chest tightened.
And for the first time—
through fear, grief, and rising danger—
I felt something else:
Strength.
Elliot left this path for me.
He trusted I would follow it.
He trusted I wouldn't be alone.
He was right.
I closed my fingers around the charm.
"I'm ready."
Horace exhaled softly—
relief
and something like pride.
"Then let's end this," he said.
Together, we stepped back into the corridors.
Ready for war.