The Academy had never been silent.
Not once.
Not even during exams, not during storms, not during curfew.
But tonight—
the silence felt like something alive.
Heavy.
Breaking.
Listening.
Horace slowed our pace as we approached the interior hall leading toward the main atrium. The walkway lights flickered above us in thin, nervous pulses. Rowan typed something into his tablet, frowned, typed again, then lowered it slowly.
"…It's starting," he whispered.
Chandler frowned. "What's starting?"
Rowan turned the screen toward us.
ROYAL OFFICE NOTICE — CAMPUS RESTRICTION PROTOCOL
Effective Immediately
Cassian inhaled sharply.
Horace muttered, "Damn it."
The message scrolled:
All exits sealed.
All student wings locked.
All personnel subject to questioning.
Royal escort teams en route.
Chandler cursed. "Okay. That's… that's pretty much the worst-case scenario."
Rowan didn't answer.
His eyes flicked to Horace.
"Lucian's already here."
Cassian tensed. "How do you know?"
Rowan turned the tablet around again—this time showing a map of the Academy with blinking red markers.
"Infiltration points," he said, voice low. "They're not prefects. This is Royal Office movement. High-level."
Chandler stepped closer to me instinctively.
"Then we need to move. Now."
Horace shook his head.
"No. Moving blindly will get us cornered."
Cassian muttered, "We're already cornered."
"No," Horace corrected, voice steady.
"We're hunted. That's different."
I swallowed.
The Academy halls looked the same—clean tiles, stone archways, banners with the school crest. But now, every shadow felt sharp. Every corner felt dangerous. Every doorway felt like it could open onto someone wearing Lucian's insignia.
The one who dragged Elliot.
The one with the cold-metal scent.
The one hunting me.
"Horace," I whispered.
"Where do we go?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at me. Really looked.
And his expression made my breath catch—
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Determination.
"Elleanore," he said quietly, "Lucian's coming because he thinks this school belongs to him."
He stepped closer.
"And because he thinks you belong to him."
My stomach twisted painfully.
Chandler muttered something too vulgar to repeat.
Horace's hand brushed mine—just enough for contact, grounding, warm.
"You are not his," he said.
Clear. Steady. Low.
"I need you to remember that."
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice enough to speak.
Cassian broke the moment with a sharp inhale.
"Footsteps. Multiple."
We turned.
Down the corridor—
four silhouettes appeared.
Tall.
Uniformed.
Moving in perfect synchronization.
Not prefects.
Not guards.
Royal escorts.
They walked with rigid posture, helmets marked in silver, uniforms lined with a cold-metal sheen that made the air smell sharper.
My pulse stuttered.
Horace immediately stepped in front of me.
Chandler and Cassian flanked him.
Rowan pulled up a temporary firewall on his tablet, fingers flying.
The escorts stopped ten meters away, forming a tight line.
One stepped forward and removed his helmet.
His expression was blank—trained into neutrality.
"His Highness Lucian Frinton requests the presence of Elleanore Fonze for scent verification and custody transfer."
The words echoed through the hall.
Chandler hissed, "Yeah? Well I request that you shove your protocol—"
Cassian elbowed him hard.
Chandler shut up (barely).
The escort continued, tone flat:
"Surrender the Omega now. Do not resist."
My breath caught.
Omega.
The word no longer whispered.
No longer hidden.
No longer theory.
Declared.
Horace's voice came out cold.
"Her name is Elleanore. And she is not going anywhere with you."
The escort looked directly at him.
"Your Highness, the Crown Heir has—"
Horace took one step forward.
The hall temperature dropped.
"If my brother wishes to speak to me," Horace said, "he can walk down here himself."
The escort stiffened. "The Crown Heir does not—"
"Then he doesn't get her," Horace said.
Final. Sharp. Deadly.
Chandler muttered, "Hell yeah."
The escort shifted slightly, eyes narrowing.
"We have orders to retrieve her sighted or unsighted. Cooperative or forcefully."
Rowan whispered, "Horace. Don't let them stall you."
Horace didn't break eye contact.
"Elleanore, get behind me."
I moved without thinking.
The escorts stepped forward two steps.
Not running.
Not charging.
Just closing distance.
Enough to make my breath snag in my throat.
They smelled like steel. Cold, disciplined steel.
Just like Lucian.
Just like Elliot's note warned.
Cassian whispered tightly, "Looks like Plan A is dead."
Chandler asked, "We had a Plan A?"
Rowan whispered, "Sort of."
Chandler tensed. "What about Plan B?"
Rowan grimaced. "I didn't finish writing Plan B."
Chandler swore again.
One of the escorts placed his hand on a device at his belt.
Horace immediately lifted his arm in front of me.
And for the first time, I heard the smallest tremor of fear in his voice.
"Don't."
The escort froze.
Cassian whispered, "Horace—what are they reaching for?"
Rowan's voice tightened.
"A scent dispersal capsule."
My throat closed.
Cassian snapped, "To force a scent spike—"
"—and trigger Aiden's bond response," Rowan finished.
Chandler's jaw dropped.
"So they want him to go feral on purpose?!"
Horace's voice became a low growl.
"None of you will lay a hand on her."
But the escorts didn't stop.
They stepped closer—
And that was when we heard it.
BOOM.
Echoing from far down the hall.
Everyone froze.
Another BOOM.
Then a scream.
Cassian's face drained of color.
"That's—"
Aiden.
Rowan confirmed in a whisper.
"Aiden broke containment again."
The escorts stiffened immediately.
One turned sharply toward the sound.
"Aiden Valehart is in this wing?"
Cassian spat, "He's not Valehart right now. He's a damn weapon you idiots keep pointing at the wrong people!"
The escorts lifted their dispersal capsules.
Rowan cursed.
"They're going to trigger him!"
Horace moved instinctively—
pulling me against his chest just as one escort activated the capsule.
A sharp metallic scent burst across the hall.
I gasped.
Chandler stumbled.
Cassian covered his mouth.
Rowan choked.
Horace swore under his breath.
"Elleanore—don't breathe—don't—"
But it was too late.
My pulse spiked—
fast
shaky
uncontrolled.
Immediately—
BOOM.
Aiden's roar tore down the corridor, shaking dust from the ceiling.
The escorts froze.
Cassian whispered, "You idiots—he's coming straight for you—"
Another roar—louder.
Violent.
Unstable.
Then—
CRASH.
Aiden tore into the hall from the opposite end, eyes wild, pupils blown, breathing ragged. His uniform was shredded around the arms, knuckles bloody from breaking through reinforced containment.
His gaze shot across the hall.
He smelled the capsule.
He smelled the spike.
He smelled me.
And then he—
stopped.
Not lunged.
Not attacked.
Stopped.
Like he'd hit an invisible wall.
Horace wrapped his arm around me, shielding me completely.
Aiden inhaled sharply—
Then staggered backward.
Cassian's eyes widened.
"He's rejecting the scent spike—"
Rowan added, stunned, "—because her true scent is too strong."
Chandler blinked. "Wait—so Aiden isn't after her—he's reacting to the fake scent the escorts just triggered?"
Cassian whispered, "No. He's reacting to both. He's trying to tell them apart."
Aiden gripped the wall—
and whispered a single word.
Broken.
Strained.
Pained.
"…Elleanore…?"
My heart twisted.
Chandler froze.
Cassian's throat tightened.
Rowan didn't breathe.
Horace's entire body went rigid.
The lead escort stepped forward sharply—
"SUBJECT A—"
Aiden snapped his head toward them, eyes darkening instantly.
He roared.
The whole hall shook.
The escorts panicked, grabbing their suppressors.
Horace tightened his hold on me.
"Elleanore," he whispered urgently, "we're leaving."
"But—"
He cupped the back of my head gently but firmly.
"No. Not one more second here."
"Where—?"
"To the only place Lucian won't dare enter," Horace said quietly.
Rowan's eyes widened.
"The royal wing."
Cassian exhaled sharply. "Horace—that's practically treason—"
Chandler grinned. "Love it. Let's go."
Aiden roared again, charging the escorts, forcing them to retreat in terror.
Horace grabbed my hand, pulling me down a side corridor.
"Elleanore," he said, voice low but sure.
"We're done running from him."
He glanced back once at the chaos behind us.
"Now we run against him."
The Prince's Wing
The hallways blurred together as we ran—
all polished stone and echoing footsteps and flickering lights.
But Horace never slowed.
Never hesitated.
Never once looked unsure of where he was going.
He wasn't following a map.
He wasn't guessing.
He was going home.
And the closer we got, the colder the air felt.
Not physically—
but in that way where your instincts know you're stepping somewhere you're not supposed to.
Cassian whispered breathlessly behind us,
"Horace—this wing is sealed for a reason—!"
"Exactly," Horace replied, not looking back.
"Because it's one of the few places Lucian can't monitor."
Chandler snorted. "Uh-huh. You say that like we won't get executed for walking inside."
Rowan corrected quietly,
"Not executed. Suspended, detained, interrogated, threatened, maybe exiled. But not executed."
Chandler glared.
"Big improvement. Thank you."
We reached a fork in the corridor—
one path lit, one path dim and roped off with thick velvet cords and a gold seal.
The seal had the Frinton crest.
A silver crown.
A wolf.
A sword.
Horace stopped in front of it.
Cassian swallowed. "Horace… you're sure about this?"
Horace placed a hand on the metal seal.
"Yes."
Chandler raised a brow. "This is normally locked, isn't it?"
Rowan answered,
"Locked, monitored, guarded, and protected by three layers of royal signatures."
"So how—" Chandler began.
But Horace pressed his palm flat against the seal.
A soft chime echoed through the corridor.
"Identity confirmed:
His Highness Horace Isaac Frinton."
The rope unlatched by itself.
The massive double doors slid open.
Chandler stared.
Rowan blinked.
Cassian muttered something like a prayer.
Horace looked at me.
"Elleanore," he said softly,
"stay close. Do not wander. If something feels off, tell me immediately."
I nodded.
And we stepped inside.
The Hall of Portraits
The air inside felt different.
Still.
Heavier.
Quiet in a way that wasn't peaceful—
more like the quiet inside a sealed vault.
The hall was lined with tall portraits framed in polished gold.
Royal bloodlines, going back generations.
Regal faces.
Stiff poses.
Cold eyes.
I tried to keep my focus forward—
but one portrait caught my attention.
A man with sharp features.
Pale eyes.
A faint, almost metallic scent lingering beneath the varnish.
Lucian.
Even painted, he felt dangerous.
Horace noticed me staring.
His voice lowered.
"I know how he looks.
But don't ever forget—
you are not prey."
His tone made something warm twist in my chest.
Rowan snapped softly,
"Everybody keep moving. We don't know how long before the escorts realize we're not in the student wings."
Chandler muttered, "And before Aiden stops ripping them apart."
Cassian winced.
"He's not—he's not in control. It's not his fault."
Chandler didn't argue this time.
Horace led us through another set of double doors.
The Prince's Private Wing
This part of the royal quarters felt… wrong.
Not cruel like Lucian.
Not warm like Horace.
Just empty.
A space that had never been lived in.
Never been used.
Horace typed a quick code into a panel near the door. The lights flickered on—
revealing an immaculate study.
Massive bookshelves.
A fireplace that had never been lit.
A desk covered in untouched documents.
Cassian frowned.
"This… doesn't feel like you."
Horace's expression tightened.
"It's not. My father commissioned this room for me when I was fifteen. I've never used it."
"Why not?" I asked softly.
"I didn't want to give Lucian another reason to monitor me," he said.
Rowan checked the corners. "It's clean. No surveillance."
Chandler blinked. "Wait—you're telling me the royal wing isn't bugged?"
"No," Rowan said as he checked another device. "Because the royal family doesn't bug itself."
Horace added quietly,
"Lucian doesn't need cameras to listen."
That sent a chill through me.
Cassian moved toward the center of the room. "We need to figure out the next step."
"No," Rowan corrected calmly. "We need to figure out the missing step."
Chandler blinked. "Which is…?"
"The reason Elliot died," Rowan said.
My breath hitched.
Horace stepped closer to Rowan.
"What did you find?"
Rowan tapped his tablet.
"A sealed directive.
Signed by the Crown Heir."
Cassian tensed.
"Lucian."
Rowan nodded.
"It's a protocol directive. High-level. Restricted to royal authority."
He looked at me.
"Elleanore… it was about you."
My heart clenched.
Chandler's jaw dropped.
"You mean he filed paperwork before even meeting her?! What kind of psycho—"
Horace snapped sharply,
"Rowan. Show me."
Rowan hesitated.
"Are you sure? It's… not gentle."
Horace's expression hardened.
"Show. Me."
Rowan tapped the file and cast it onto the nearest holo-wall.
A document appeared.
Royal seal.
Encrypted signature.
Black borders.
At the top:
DIRECTIVE 17-C:
Potential Strategic Omega Acquisition
My knees went weak.
Chandler cursed quietly.
Cassian whispered, horrified,
"No. No, no—"
Rowan scrolled.
"…Omega candidate identified as possessing rare compatibility markers with the Frinton bloodline…"
Horace inhaled sharply.
Rowan kept reading.
"…subject's scent profile flagged for immediate retrieval, examination, and classification…"
Cassian slammed a fist against the table.
"He wanted to claim her. Like she was property."
Chandler growled,
"He wanted to own her."
Rowan read the final line.
"…secondary subject (twin brother) to be neutralized if interference occurs."
Everything inside me froze.
Neutralized.
Neutralized.
Elliot.
Cassian choked on a breath and backed up until he hit a bookshelf.
Chandler's fists balled at his sides.
Rowan lowered his head.
Horace stared at the directive—
not blinking
not moving
barely breathing.
"Elleanore," he whispered.
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
Because Elliot's last words echoed in my mind—
Don't trust him.
He knows your scent.
Rowan broke the silence quietly.
"Elleanore… your brother didn't die because he was mistaken for you."
I swallowed hard.
Rowan continued.
"He died because he tried to protect you."
Cassian covered his face, shoulders shaking.
Chandler paced behind the desk, punching air.
Horace stepped toward me—but stopped midway, as if afraid to touch me without permission.
"Elleanore," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
"He died because of me."
"No," Horace said sharply.
"No, he died because of my brother."
My breath hitched.
Horace's voice softened—
but the pain behind it cut deeper than anger ever could.
"And I will never forgive him for it."
The room felt too heavy.
Too full.
Too painful.
Cassian suddenly snapped.
He slammed his shoulder against the bookshelf, sending books scattering across the floor.
"HE WAS JUST A KID!" he shouted.
"He was just—he didn't deserve—"
His voice cracked—
And he collapsed to his knees.
Chandler froze.
Rowan looked away.
Horace moved to him slowly.
Placed a hand on his shoulder.
Cassian didn't push him away.
He just covered his face.
"He didn't deserve it," he whispered.
No one disagreed.
No one could.
Horace finally turned back to me.
"Elleanore," he said softly, "Elliot gave everything to protect you."
I nodded, tears burning.
"And now," he said, "it's our turn."
My breath trembled.
Horace stepped closer.
"Lucian isn't just here to test you," he said.
"He's here to take you."
I swallowed, voice barely a whisper.
"I'm scared."
He didn't pretend otherwise.
"I know," he said.
"And I can't promise you this will be easy."
Then he leaned down slightly—
just enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath.
"But I promise you this," he said, voice low and steady:
"You won't face him alone."
Chandler stepped to my left, cracking his knuckles.
"Hell no."
Cassian wiped his face and stood on my right.
"Not a chance."
Rowan moved behind me, tablet ready.
"Let him come."
Horace extended his hand.
"Elleanore," he asked softly,
"are you ready to finish Elliot's fight?"
I closed my fingers around the snowdrop charm.
And I nodded.
"Yes."
Horace exhaled slowly—
Relieved.
Determined.
Fierce.
"Then we move now," he said.
"Before Lucian finds us first."