For the first time since I'd met him, Lucian didn't look smug.
He didn't look arrogant.
Didn't look superior.
Didn't look amused.
He looked—
careful.
As if approaching something fragile.
Or dangerous.
Or both.
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
He stepped no closer, though the shadows behind him stretched forward from the dim hospital lights.
"Elleanore…" His voice was low, steady, almost gentle.
"The Sigma unit didn't 'glitch.'
It didn't malfunction.
It didn't misinterpret your command."
He paused.
"It submitted."
My breath caught.
"Machines like the Sigma don't submit," I said quietly.
"They follow programming."
Lucian shook his head.
"No.
Sigma-class models only bend to one thing."
He held my gaze.
"One source. One signal. One origin."
A shiver crept down my spine.
"Lucian—"
"You gave it a wide-action order," he said, voice tightening.
"You shouldn't have been able to.
Not unless your scent signature matched the prime imprint they were patterned after."
I blinked, confused.
"What imprint?"
Lucian exhaled.
"The original Alpha that the Sigma line was keyed to—the one the military experimented on.
The one whose scent and pheromone control were more advanced than any recorded Alpha."
The world around me buzzed faintly.
"That's not possible," I whispered.
"I'm not an Alpha."
Lucian nodded once.
"You're not."
A pause.
"That's what makes this terrifying."
My stomach tightened.
"What are you trying to say?"
Lucian softened—
actually softened.
"Elleanore, I'm not your enemy tonight."
I didn't respond.
He continued anyway.
"You asked why the Crown is pulling you into isolation?
This is why.
Not because you're dangerous—though you are.
But because you're valuable."
My pulse stuttered.
"Valuable… how?"
Lucian hesitated.
"I believe your scent signature is mutating beyond Omega classification."
I stared.
"That's impossible."
"No," Lucian corrected,
"It's unprecedented.
Which is much worse."
Before I could answer—
a knock hit the door behind him.
Lucian didn't turn.
He simply said,
"Enter."
Two medics peeked in.
"Sir—Prince Horace has regained consciousness."
The medic glanced nervously at me.
"He's demanding to see her."
My heart jumped into my throat.
Horace.
He's awake.
Lucian's jaw tightened.
"Is he stable?"
"He's… resisting treatment," the medic admitted.
"He pulled his IV out himself."
I nearly shot up from the bed.
The medic added quickly,
"He's insisting that he will walk on his own—"
"That idiot," Lucian muttered.
I stood completely.
"Where is he?"
The medic blinked nervously.
"He's… on his way here."
"On his—?" Lucian started to ask—
—but heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.
Not calm.
Not steady.
Angry.
Determined.
And very painful-sounding.
The door burst open.
And Horace stumbled in.
His lips were bloodless.
His eyes fevered.
His breathing ragged.
One arm held his bandaged ribs.
Medics ran behind him in panic.
"Prince Horace—STOP—YOU CAN'T BE WALKING—!!"
But he ignored them.
His gaze locked on me instantly.
"Elleanore."
Lucian stepped back—almost in surprise—when Horace crossed the room and grabbed me gently by the shoulders.
His voice shook.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded, breathless.
"I'm okay—Horace—you're supposed to be in bed—"
"No," he whispered hoarsely.
"I woke up and you weren't there."
He pulled me into him—
not crushing, not desperate—
but holding, steadying, like he needed to feel I was real.
And I—
I needed it too.
The scent patch on my bed warmed with his nearness, syncing perfectly.
Lucian watched silently, expression unreadable.
Horace finally loosened his hold just enough to glare at Lucian.
"What are you doing in her room?"
Lucian raised an eyebrow.
"Talking."
"That's not an answer."
"It wasn't a question," Lucian replied.
Horace's jaw clenched dangerously.
Before the tension could break, medics rushed in again.
"Prince Horace—PLEASE—return to your bed—"
Horace kept his eyes on Lucian.
"She's not going anywhere near the Crown Wing."
Lucian crossed his arms.
"Your father will have a word about that."
"My father can try," Horace snapped.
"Elleanore isn't ready," Lucian countered.
Horace stepped closer, chest nearly touching Lucian's.
"Stay away from her."
Lucian's eyes cooled.
"Or what?"
Horace's gaze didn't waver.
"I'm warning you."
Lucian lifted his chin slightly.
"It won't be me you need to fear next," he said quietly.
"It'll be the Crown."
Horace didn't flinch.
"Good. Let them try me."
Their scents flared—
sharp Alpha dominance from Horace
cold controlled authority from Lucian.
It made the medics back away nervously.
I stepped between them.
"Stop," I whispered.
"Please."
Instantly—
both Alphas halted.
Lucian blinked.
Horace lowered his fists.
"Elleanore," Horace murmured, softer now,
"You don't need to hear what he's saying."
Lucian had the audacity to scoff quietly.
"You think I'd hurt her?"
Horace snarled,
"You already did."
Lucian stiffened.
"Not intentionally."
Rowan's voice entered the room unexpectedly.
"No," he said quietly from the doorway.
"You did."
We turned.
Chandler stood behind him, hovering protectively.
Lucian's expression hardened.
"Student Hale."
Rowan's jaw clenched, eyes frightened but furious.
"You don't get to act innocent.
You don't get to pretend like you aren't tied to that place."
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
"Watch yourself."
But Rowan didn't stop.
"Why do you think I recognized the Advisor?"
Rowan's voice shook.
"Why do you think I froze when he walked in?
Because I know the Crown Wing.
I KNOW the things that happen there."
Chandler gripped his hand.
"Rowan, stop—"
Rowan shook his head violently and stepped into the room.
His eyes moved to me.
"Elleanore…
I know what happens when the Crown isolates someone.
Especially someone valuable."
My heart pounded.
"And if they take you," Rowan whispered,
"they won't let Horace reach you.
Or Cassian.
Or Chandler.
Or any of us."
Lucian's composure cracked.
"Rowan, you are misunderstanding—"
"No I'm not."
Rowan's voice trembled.
"I was there."
Chandler pulled him into his chest, holding him tight.
Lucian inhaled sharply.
"I didn't know."
Rowan's voice was small, broken.
"You weren't supposed to."
Silence swallowed the room.
Horace moved first.
He stepped protectively in front of me.
"No one is taking her," he said again, voice softer but firmer than before.
"I won't allow it."
The medics exchanged nervous glances.
Lucian looked at Horace for a long moment.
Then at me.
"Elleanore," he said quietly.
"There's something you need to know.
About your brother.
And the day he vanished."
The world tilted slightly.
Horace's grip on my arm tightened.
"What did you say?"
Lucian's voice lowered.
"There are files.
Crown Wing files.
Marked with your brother's name."
My breath died.
Rowan sucked in a sharp gasp.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Horace's pupils constricted.
"You," Horace growled,
"are going to show us those files."
Lucian didn't deny it.
In fact—
he nodded.
"I will."
Everyone froze.
Lucian's voice dropped to a quiet, dangerous promise.
"But once you see what's inside…"
His eyes met mine.
"…there is no going back."
Elliot's Name on the Door
For a long moment, the room felt too small.
Too bright.
Too sharp.
Too quiet.
Lucian's words echoed in the air like something that had weight:
"There are files. Crown Wing files.
Marked with your brother's name."
Horace's entire body went rigid beside me.
Rowan went pale.
Chandler's grip on his hand tightened.
Cassian—standing in the doorway after checking on Aiden—froze completely.
I whispered, barely able to breathe:
"Show me."
Lucian nodded once.
"Not here."
Horace staggered, catching himself on the bed frame.
"You're not taking her anywhere alone," he said, breath sharp.
"I'm going with."
Lucian raised an eyebrow.
"You can barely stand."
"I can stand enough to keep you away from her."
Lucian hesitated. He didn't argue.
Rowan stepped forward, throat tight, voice trembling:
"I'm going too."
Chandler grabbed his wrist.
"You don't have to—"
"Yes. I do." Rowan swallowed.
"If this is about Elliot…
I need to know what the Crown Wing did."
Chandler softened instantly.
"Then I'm with you."
Cassian looked between us, fear rising in his eyes.
"I need to stay with Aiden," he whispered.
"He's still not stable.
But Elleanore—please—be careful."
I nodded.
Cassian touched my hand once—
a gesture of desperate, wordless trust—
and stepped back toward Aiden's room.
Lucian finally exhaled.
"Fine.
But all of you need to understand—
once we enter this file room, none of you can claim ignorance again.
The Crown will not forgive interference."
Horace stepped in front of me.
"We don't need forgiveness.
We need the truth."
Lucian looked at him long enough to recognize he meant every word.
"…Very well," Lucian murmured.
"Follow me."
THE WALK TO THE UNMARKED DOOR
The hospital corridors were quieter at night—
but not empty.
Guards paused when they saw us approaching, eyeing Horace's unstable walk and Rowan's trembling hands.
Lucian flashed a badge.
The guards stepped back.
We turned down a sterile hallway I'd never noticed before.
The lighting was harsher here.
The air colder.
Even the floor echoed differently.
Chandler whispered to Rowan,
"You don't have to see this if it hurts too much—"
Rowan shook his head quickly.
"No.
I won't run.
Not from this."
Lucian walked ahead, stopping in front of a door with no label.
No sign.
No lock.
Just a scanner.
He placed his palm on it.
The scanner lit up—
scanning his hand, his wrist, then his face.
A mechanical voice murmured:
"Access granted.
Crown Wing—Archive 3."
The door slid open.
My breath caught.
This wasn't just a file room.
It was a vault.
Rows of black consoles lined the walls, each lit with faint holographic strips.
No paper.
No physical files.
Just digital records.
Sealed.
Classified.
Lucian entered first.
We followed.
Horace stayed close to me—close enough I felt his warmth at my back even though he was still swaying from the pain.
Chandler stuck to Rowan's side, grounding him with a hand gripping his wrist.
Lucian approached a central console.
"Before I show you anything," he said quietly,
"I need you to understand that the Crown—my family—will never allow these files to be released.
Not without consequence."
Horace stepped forward sharply.
"My father doesn't dictate what happens tonight."
Lucian smiled faintly.
"No.
But he will dictate what happens tomorrow."
He pressed a sequence of commands on the console.
The holo-screen flickered.
Then loaded.
FILE HEADER:
SUBJECT: FONZE, ELLIOT JAN
CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED / CROWN WING LEVEL 4
STATUS: MISSING. PRESUMED DEAD.
My legs wobbled.
Horace caught my arm instantly.
"Elleanore—hey—stay with me."
Chandler whispered,
"Holy shit…"
Rowan took one step backward—like the floor had dropped out from beneath him.
Lucian's face remained unreadable.
"I didn't know this file existed until earlier," he said quietly.
"Not until the emergency stabilizer logs flagged your scent patterns."
Horace stiffened.
"What's in the file?"
Lucian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he opened the FIRST page.
And everything in me shattered.
LOG ENTRY – SIX MONTHS AGO
Subject: Elliot Fonze, student candidate
Reason for detainment: Scent Anomaly
Detainment.
My breath froze.
Rowan whispered,
"That's the exact wording they used… for me."
Chandler pulled him closer.
"Rowan. Look at me. You're not there. You're here."
Lucian scrolled.
CONTAINMENT NOTES:
"Subject was admitted for further study of unexpected scent fluctuation levels.
Results suggest gene drift inconsistent with Omega or Beta classification."
My heart hammered painfully.
Horace muttered,
"What does that mean?"
Lucian spoke quietly:
"It means Elliot's scent signature was changing.
Just like yours."
My hands trembled around Horace's fingers.
"No.
No, that's not possible—Elliot was normal—he was perfectly normal—"
Lucian looked at me steadily.
"Elleanore… your twin shared your scent.
Your chemistry.
Your baseline.
Your potential."
Horace stiffened.
"Elleanore," he said softly,
"it doesn't mean anything bad.
We've seen how scent distortion happens—trauma, stress, instinct overdrive—"
Rowan whispered:
"…or experimentation."
Lucian didn't contradict him.
Instead, he opened the NEXT entry.
LOG – INCIDENT REPORT
Subject exhibited unclassified scent flare during examination.
Reaction: uncontrolled pheromonal event.
Containment protocol triggered.
I felt sick.
"Lucian…" My voice broke.
"What did they do to him?"
Lucian looked away briefly.
"I don't know.
This part of the file is locked to Crown-only access."
Horace's temper snapped.
"AND YOU EXPECT US TO BELIEVE THAT?!"
Lucian met his eyes.
"I'm telling the truth.
If I had Level 5 clearance, I would open it."
Horace growled.
"Try harder."
Lucian tapped the locked area.
The console blinked red.
ACCESS DENIED
SCENT ID REQUIRED: ROYAL BLOOD—PRIMARY LINEAGE
Horace froze.
"Primary lineage?" he echoed.
Lucian nodded.
"That means your father. Or you."
Horace's jaw tightened.
"Then step aside."
Lucian moved.
Horace leaned into the console—
slapping his palm onto the scanner.
The system analyzed his scent, then his bloodline markers.
The room held its breath.
The console flashed—
ACCESS GRANTED – PRINCE HORACE FRINTON
The locked file opened.
Rowan whimpered softly but didn't look away.
I stepped closer, heart hammering, as the screen displayed:
VIDEO LOG – CROWN WING OBSERVATION ROOM
SUBJECT: ELLIOT FONZE
A room appeared.
Bright lights.
Metal table.
Elliot sitting upright, hands resting on his knees.
He looked tired.
Pale.
But alive.
My eyes burned.
"…Elliot…"
Horace quietly held my hand.
Rowan hid his face against Chandler's shoulder, unable to watch directly.
Lucian played the video.
Elliot looked up at the camera.
"Still here," he said, voice steady but strained.
"I'm not dangerous.
You can stop monitoring me."
A voice off-screen replied:
"We need another reading."
Elliot's jaw clenched.
"Then let me go home."
"No."
Elliot exhaled shakily.
Then looked straight into the camera—
and my heart stopped.
"Elleanore," he murmured.
The tech off-screen snapped,
"Subject—face forward—"
But Elliot ignored him.
"Elleanore," he said again, voice cracking.
"If they show you this…
I'm sorry."
My knees nearly buckled.
Horace caught me.
Chandler's breath hitched.
Even Lucian swallowed.
Elliot continued, voice growing softer:
"I didn't mean to leave you alone.
I didn't choose this.
Something's wrong with me…
and I think they know what it is."
He pressed a trembling hand over his chest.
"My scent… it's changing.
It hurts.
And—"
A loud crash cut him off.
Someone off-screen cursed.
The lights flickered.
Elliot's eyes widened.
"No—no—no—please—don't—"
The feed glitched.
The screen crackled.
Rowan whispered, "No—no—no—please—stop—"
Chandler wrapped his arms around him tightly.
Lucian tried to stabilize the video.
But then—
One clear frame appeared.
A hand—
grabbing Elliot by the arm.
Dragging him off the table.
Elliot screaming—
"No—don't—STOP—PLEASE—"
Then the feed exploded into static.
The console snapped back to the file summary—
STATUS: SUBJECT LOST DURING TRANSFER.
CAUSE: UNKNOWN.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Rowan collapsed to the floor, covering his ears.
Chandler fell with him, holding him tight.
Lucian's face was pale, unreadable.
Horace whispered,
"Elleanore…
say something. Please."
But I couldn't.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't exist.
Elliot wasn't sick.
He wasn't unstable.
He wasn't missing.
He was taken.
Experimented on.
Dragged away.
Stolen from me.
He knew.
And he tried to reach me.
I pressed a hand over my mouth as tears finally spilled down.
"He was calling for me," I whispered.
"He was calling for me and I wasn't there—
I wasn't there to help him—"
Horace cupped my face gently.
"Elleanore…"
His voice broke.
"This isn't your fault."
"It is," I choked.
"I didn't even know.
I didn't look.
I didn't—"
"Elleanore."
He pulled me into his chest, arms around me firmly.
"You had no way of knowing."
Lucian spoke quietly.
"There is more."
Rowan whimpered,
"No—please—no more—"
Chandler kissed the side of his head.
"I'm here. I'm here. You don't have to look."
But I stepped forward.
"Show me," I whispered.
Lucian hesitated.
"Elleanore…"
"Show. Me."
Lucian opened the LAST entry.
LAST KNOWN LOG – CROWN WING
Record ends here.
No recovery attempt documented.
Subject presumed dead.
The words hit like a knife.
But then—
something else appeared beneath it.
A small, almost hidden note.
Secondary Record:
PROJECT: PRIME SOURCE
Status: ACTIVE
Subject: FONZE
Type: Omega – Mutation
Horace's breath caught.
Lucian's eyes widened.
Rowan's knees buckled again.
Chandler whispered,
"…Mutation?"
And I—
I felt something cold crawl up my spine.
I whispered the truth out loud, voice hollow:
"They didn't stop looking for him."
Horace tightened his grip on my shoulders.
"Elleanore—"
"They didn't stop."
My voice cracked.
"They moved to another subject."
I looked up.
Straight at Lucian.
"Me."