Briarwell Orphanage erupted in noise.
Children ran through the corridors, shoes slapping against old tiles, workers shouting orders that tangled into panic as smoke curled up the stairwells.
A small fire had broken out on the lower floor, harmless for now, but enough to turn the four-story building into chaos.
The orphanage was built vertically, each floor with its own reputation.
The first floor housed the Kind children, gentle and helpful, always holding hands as they ran.
The second floor belonged to the Quiet ones, silent even in emergencies, eyes sharp and watchful.
The third floor was the Smart floor, filled with clever minds and calculating glances.
The fourth floor was the Menace floor, infamous for pranks, trouble, and constant supervision.
And then there was Elior.
He was seventeen, a little short for his age, with messy black hair that never stayed in place and large, innocent-looking eyes that fooled people exactly once.
There were dark circles beneath them, hints of sleepless nights and long thoughts.
At first glance, he looked harmless.
At second glance, people grew cautious.
While the orphanage emptied, Elior stood inside the owner's office, untouched by the panic outside.
Madame Halloway, the owner of Briarwell, stood before him wit arms crossed.
She was a strict woman, sharp-faced, always impeccably dressed, her presence enough to silence most children.
"This is exactly why no one wants to adopt you," she snapped. "Smart enough to cause problems, reckless enough to make them worse."
Her words were not new.
Elior's name had followed him through every hallway, whispered by staff, warned about to visitors.
Stories spread easily at Briarwell—about pranks gone too far, teachers humiliated, rules bent until they broke.
Every time a potential adopter came, someone mentioned Elior, and the visit ended early.
The staff never agreed on where to place him.
The Smart floor wanted him for his intelligence.The Menace floor claimed him for his behavior.
In the end, he belonged to neither—and to all.
He had been at Briarwell longer than most.
Seventeen years without a single adoption.
Not once.
His reputation reached faster than his name ever could.
Outside, the fire was controlled.
The screaming faded.
Life at the orphanage resumed like it always did.
Inside the office, Elior remained where he always ended up—standing alone, calm-faced, the boy everyone talked about, and no one chose.
--
The Smart Floor was quieter than the others, even after the fire.
Doors were half open, children peeking out like observers rather than participants.
Elior leaned against the railing when a boy approached him from the third floor.
Cassian.
Cassian was the kind of smart that didn't announce itself.
Neatly combed dark-brown hair, narrow eyes always calculating, posture straight as if he'd trained himself to look reliable.
He wore his uniform properly, sleeves rolled just enough to look casual. Teachers trusted him.
Staff praised him.
He was the opposite of Elior in almost every way—except intelligence.
"You're going to stop one day," Cassian said calmly, adjusting his glasses. "You can't keep doing this forever."
Elior looked at him, wide eyes unreadable, lips curved in a mild, almost polite smile.
Cassian sighed. "You won't even pretend to deny it."
More kids gathered nearby, drawn as always.
A boy from the Menace Floor scoffed. "Stop? Him? He lives for trouble."
A girl from the Kind Floor frowned. "He's not that bad. He helped me once."
"Helped you after setting off the alarm," someone muttered.
Another voice laughed. "He's smart, sure, but he's still a walking problem."
Praise mixed with insults, admiration tangled with blame.
Elior didn't react.
He stood there, black hair falling into his eyes, innocent expression untouched by the noise.
His big eyes followed the speakers politely, as if he were listening to a pleasant conversation instead of a list of accusations.
Cassian watched him closely.
"One day," he said again, quieter now, "they're going to get tired of forgiving you."
Elior only smiled.
The comments continued around him—whispers, laughs, sharp words—but none of them stuck.
He neither defended himself nor explained.
He simply remained there, calm and still, the center of every story, untouched by all of them.
At Briarwell Orphanage, that was how it always was.
And everyone knew it wouldn't end quietly.