By nightfall, Briarwell Orphanage had returned to its usual quiet.
That quiet never lasted.
The prank began harmlessly. Too harmless to blame anyone.
The dinner bell rang five minutes early.The intercom hummed and cut off mid-sentence.The hallway lights flickered once, twice, then behaved perfectly.
Children laughed. Workers frowned.
Cassian stood at the railing of the Smart Floor, eyes following the timing, the pattern.
Elior leaned beside him.
Black hair falling into his eyes.Big, innocent-looking eyes fixed on nothing in particular.Hands relaxed. Still.
"You're stacking events," Cassian said quietly. "You always do."
Elior didn't respond.
Cassian didn't expect him to.
The final act hit all at once.
The emergency bell screamed through all four floors.
Doors flew open. Children ran. Someone cried. Someone laughed too loudly. Workers shouted orders over each other.
Then the sprinklers activated.
Not throughout the building.
Only in Mrs. Halloway's office.
Water poured down over files, shelves, and framed certificates. Papers dissolved into useless pulp.
The bell cut out.
Silence crashed down.
Footsteps followed.
Fast. Precise. Angry.
Mrs. Halloway emerged from her office soaked, hair slipping loose from its severe bun, glasses clenched in her hand.
Her eyes locked onto Elior instantly.
She crossed the hallway in long strides and grabbed him by the corner of his collar, yanking him forward.
The hallway froze.
"This," she said sharply, voice cutting through the air, "is exactly why you will never be adopted."
Elior didn't flinch.
He didn't speak.
He just looked at her with those wide eyes, blank and unreadable.
"You don't cry. You don't explain. You don't deny it," she continued. "You stand there like this is all a game."
Cassian stepped forward.
"He didn't mean to flood the office," he said calmly.
Mrs. Halloway shot him a look. "Then what did he mean to do?"
Cassian didn't answer immediately.
"He wanted you to notice," he said finally.
The grip on Elior's collar tightened.
"You think that excuses him?"
"No," Cassian replied. "I think it explains him."
Elior remained silent. He always was.
Around them, whispers started.
"Say something," someone muttered."He never does," another replied."That's what makes it worse."
Mrs. Halloway released him abruptly.
"Go to your room," she snapped. "Tomorrow, we decide what to do with you."
Elior adjusted his collar once and walked away without a word.
Cassian watched him go, expression tight.
He knew this wasn't just another punishment.
This was the moment Briarwell Orphanage finally decided Elior was too much.
And this time, even silence wouldn't protect him.
Night fell over Briarwell Orphanage like a held breath.
Lights clicked off floor by floor. Doors shut. Footsteps faded. The building settled into its old creaks and sighs, pretending nothing had happened.
On the fourth floor, Elior's room was dark.
He moved without hurry. Shoes on. Jacket pulled tight. Backpack slung over one shoulder. No hesitation, no pause. He opened the window just enough to slip through.
The metal railing outside was cold.
He was halfway over when a voice cut through the dark.
"Elior."
Cassian stood in the doorway, breath uneven, hair messier than usual. He hadn't brought a coat.
"I knew it," Cassian said quietly. "You always leave at night."
Elior didn't look at him.
Cassian stepped closer. "They're angry, not heartless. This will pass."
Elior tightened the strap of his backpack.
Cassian swallowed. "You don't have to do this alone."
Still nothing.
"I know why you do it," Cassian continued, voice steady but strained. "You don't break things because you're careless. You break them because silence doesn't work."
Elior paused.
Just for a second.
Cassian took that as hope.
"If you walk out that window," he said, "they'll stop calling it a phase."
Elior climbed onto the ledge.
Cassian reached out and grabbed his sleeve.
"Stay."
Elior gently pulled free.
No struggle. No anger.
Just a clean escape.
He dropped down onto the fire escape, then to the ground below. His landing was quiet. Practiced.
Cassian leaned out the window. "Elior!"
The name echoed uselessly into the night.
Elior didn't look back.
The gate creaked open. Then shut.
By morning, Briarwell would say he ran away.
Cassian knew better.
Elior hadn't run.
He had simply left.
------ ++++++++ --------
The street was quiet, but not empty.
Elior stood beneath a flickering streetlight, hood up, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets.
Three older boys blocked the narrow sidewalk ahead of him, their shadows stitched together like a warning.
"You sure this is all?" one of them asked, palm open.
Elior dropped a few crumpled bills into it. The amount was small. Embarrassingly small.
The boy scoffed. "That's lunch money."
Elior tilted his head, wide eyes calm, almost gentle.
He didn't argue. He never did. His silence unsettled people more than shouting ever could.
Another boy leaned closer. "Next time, don't waste our time."
Elior nodded once.
They moved aside, laughter trailing behind them like smoke.
He stepped off the curb.
Hands back in his pockets. Hood low. Walking as if nothing had happened.
At the far end of the street, a car idled at a red light.
Inside were a couple.
The woman's blonde hair was tied in a loose knot, strands escaping as she turned sharply toward the driver.
She looked young, but worry sat on her shoulders like it belonged there. The man beside her had black hair, jaw tight, fingers gripping the wheel.
"We shouldn't be late," she said, checking the time again. "The girls will get worried."
"They'll be fine," the man replied, though his eyes stayed tense on the road. "Just a few minutes."
The light changed.
The car moved.
Elior stepped forward.
It wasn't dramatic.
No slow motion. No heroic leap.
Just a shout, brakes screaming, and a dull impact that knocked the breath from his lungs.
He hit the pavement and slid, skin scraping against asphalt.
His hands burned.
The world tilted, then steadied.
The car stopped far too close.
The woman was out first, panic flooding her face. "Oh my God—are you hurt?"
The man followed, scanning the street, then Elior. "You came out of nowhere."
Elior pushed himself up slowly. Black hair fell into his eyes. His gaze was big, blank, unreadable.
Blood streaked lightly across his palm.
Not dangerous. Enough to scare.
"I'm calling an ambulance," the woman said immediately.
"He's sitting up," the man said, unsure.
"I don't care," she snapped. "What if he's not okay?"
At the hospital, it was over quickly.
Scratches. A bruise. Bandages. Discharged the same night.
The woman sighed in relief. Then she really looked at him.
Too thin. Too quiet. Too familiar in a way that hurt.
"Where do you live?" she asked softly.
Elior stared at the floor.
"He hasn't said a word," the man murmured.
She tried again, gentler. "Is your family nearby?"
Elior's voice came out suddenly, sharp from disuse.
"I'm an orphan," he said. "I live in an orphanage."
The word settled heavy between them.
When they drove him back, he didn't resist.
The orphanage gates loomed ahead, tall and tired.
As soon as the car stopped, the front doors flew open.
Mrs. Posh appeared.
She moved faster than anyone expected, cardigan fluttering, smile gone. Her eyes went straight to Elior's bandaged hands.
"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed.
Before anyone could stare, before questions could bloom, she gently but firmly ushered him inside.
"Thank you," she called back to the couple, already guiding him down the hall. "We'll take care of him."
Inside, away from curious eyes, she knelt in front of him.
"You ran," she said softly. Not accusing. Just knowing.
Elior's shoulders trembled.
Mrs. Posh pulled him into a tight hug.
He froze for half a second—then hugged her back, just as tightly.
She held him like she had all the time in the world.
The street incident should have ended that night.
It didn't.
Because some accidents don't leave scars you can bandage.
They leave people who refuse to let go.