Third Person POV
The only sound in the dormitory was the frantic, rhythmic tapping of Elara's fingers. They danced across the laptop keys with a desperate, staccato energy, the blue light of the screen reflecting in her wide, unblinking eyes. She was chasing ghosts through the university's digital archives, her mind a blurred map of encrypted files and deleted student records, trying to find any trace of her brother's final days.
Suddenly, the tapping stopped. The silence that followed was heavy, sudden, and terrifying.
Elara's breath hitched in her throat as a cold realization washed over her. She didn't close the laptop; she shoved it aside with such force it nearly slid off the desk. She lunged for her school bag, which was slumped against the leg of the bed. Her movements were jagged, stripped of their usual calculated grace. She gripped the bottom of the bag and upended it, emptying the contents onto the floor in a chaotic heap of heavy textbooks, loose-leaf papers, and graphite pencils.
She didn't find what she was looking for.
A low, guttural sound of panic escaped her. She began to dash around the small dorm room, a whirlwind of frantic, destructive motion. She flipped the room upside down, her hands tearing through the order she had meticulously maintained since her arrival at Blackwood. She stripped the bed, the sheets fluttering to the floor like white flags of surrender. She flipped the mattress, checking the space between the frame and the wall. She swept the contents of her desk onto the linoleum—ink bottles shattered, pens rolled into dark corners, and notebooks fell open to pages of frantic scribbles.
She moved to the floorboards, kneeling and running her nails through the cracks, searching for a glimmer of metal that wasn't there. She flipped the rugs, checked inside her shoes, and even tore the posters off the walls. Finally, she stopped.
She remained on the floor, back against the bedframe, panting hard as the adrenaline began to sour in her veins. Her chest rose and fell in jagged, painful heaves. Slowly, she ran her fingers through her jet-black hair, pulling at the roots as if the physical pain could ground her. The room looked like shit. It was a graveyard of her own desperation—shredded paper, overturned furniture, and the dark, spreading stain of spilled ink.
"Fuck," she cursed under her breath, the word sounding small and hollow against the cold stone walls.
Elara POV
I cursed again, the frustration boiling over until I felt like my skin was too tight for my body. I had been so careful. I had played the game with such precision, hiding behind my masks and my lies, but in the end, I had been the one outplayed.
I got clumsy. It was all my fault.
The weight in my pocket—the cold, comforting weight of the blackened coin—was gone. It was the only tangible clue I had left in the search for Leo. It was the key to the Archive and the only thing that linked me to the brother the world wanted me to forget. Without it, I was just another student at Blackwood;
"Think, Elara. Think," I whispered, my voice trembling.
The image of Julian Blackwood flashed in my mind. He had sat next to me today in class, his presence looming over me like a dark cloud his voice a low vibration that made my skin crawl. I should have known when he sat down next to me that he was there for a purpose. He was the most obvious choice. He was the puppet of the circle.
I grabbed my jacket from the floor of the crumpled room, shaking it out one last time as if the coin might magically reappear. Nothing. My jaw tightened until it ached. I wasn't going to sit here and wait for the "Circle" to decide my fate.
I was going to find Julian. I was going to wrap my hands around his silk tie and demand he give back the only thing I had left of my brother.
I dashed out into the halls, the air in the corridor feeling thin and cold. My boots clicked sharply against the stone, a frantic heartbeat echoing through the North Wing. I began checking each classroom, throwing open the heavy oak doors and scanning the rows of empty desks for any sign of that tailored velvet coat or that messy, dark hair.
I checked the Advanced Calculus hall. Empty.
I checked the Ethics lab. Empty.
I checked the private study nooks hidden behind the tapestries in the East Wing.
But he seemed to have disappeared from the whole school. It was as if he had evaporated into the very shadows he commanded. The more I searched, the more the rage burned in my chest, hot and suffocating.
"Bastard," I gritted my teeth in anger.
I stood in the center of the West Wing corridor, panting. The moonlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting distorted patterns of blue and red across the floor. My mind was a whirlwind of accusations. He did this. He saw me class, he knew I had it, and he waited for the perfect moment to strike.
But then, a small, nagging thought began to itch at the back of my brain.
Julian was cruel. He would have stayed to watch me realize it was gone. He would have lingered just to whisper a taunt in my ear,he would have give me a stupid advice and mutter the words of failure to me
I stopped walking. My breath slowed.
When Julian sat down next to me, he had kept both of his hands on the table. I remembered the way he looked at the professor throughout the class He hadn't reached for my jacket. He hadn't even brushed against me.i was even the one who started a conversation with him
If it wasn't Julian... then who?
I looked down at my hands. They were stained with the ink from the shattered bottles in my room—dark, indelible smears that looked like bruises under the fingernails. I thought about the possibilities ,ifJulian wasn't the thief—he was the distraction. Or worse, he didn't even know it was gone, which meant there was a third player in this game that I hadn't accounted for. Someone who was watching both of us or perhaps me I could remember the sharp gaze directed to my back during class
I looked at the ink under my fingernails, the black stains a reminder of the mess I had made of my room—and my life. I had just spent an hour hunting a man who might not even have what I needed. I had let my anger blind me to the truth.
I leaned against the cold stone wall, the silence of Blackwood University pressing in on me. The "Circle" wasn't just Julian. It was the walls. It was the students. It was the very air I was breathing.
"Leo," I whispered, the name a plea into the darkness. "Where are you?"
I couldn't go back to my room. Not yet. I had to know if Julian was involved, even if he didn't have the coin. I turned toward the restricted section of the library, my mind racing. If someone else had the coin, they were heading for the Archive. They were heading for the one place I was forbidden to enter.
I wasn't a "Little Bird" anymore. I was a hunter who had lost her trail, but I was still dangerous. And as I walked toward the darkness of the library, I realized that if I couldn't find the coin, I would have to find the person who took it—and I would make them wish they had never touched a Vance's property.
The ink under my fingernails felt like a brand. A promise. I wasn't leaving this school until I had the coin, my brother, and the head of whoever thought they could play me for a fool.
I reached the library doors, the heavy oak looming over me. I didn't care about being quiet anymore. I didn't care about the rules.
As I was about to push the doors a pair of strong arms grabbed me I turned to look at the person.it was Julian. He was looking at the ground, his expression cold and grim. What are you doing here elara his grim eyes snapped towards me
"Someone took my coin."
Julian froze. The mocking smirk I expected didn't appear. Instead, his jaw tightened, and he looked toward the orc doors.
His jaws clenched