The flag in the main courtyard was flying at half-mast.
It wasn't for a dignitary. It was for Eiden Killian, the "Swiss transfer student" who had tragically fallen overboard during the storm on the senior field trip. That was the official story. A tragedy. An accident.
The school was in mourning. The hallways, usually buzzing with gossip, were silent. Students whispered his name like a prayer. To them, he was the boy who stood up to bullies, the "Devil" who fought for the weak. He was a fallen hero.
Emily walked through the silence.
She wore black. Not a uniform, but a mourning dress her father had picked out. She walked with her head high, her face a perfect mask of stoic grief.
But inside, she was screaming.
She looked at her right hand. The hand that had held the gun. It felt heavy. It felt... stained.
I killed a monster, she told herself. I killed the Wolf who hunted my family. I avenged my mother.
But the words felt hollow. They tasted like ash.
Every time she closed her eyes, she didn't see a monster. She saw Eiden's eyes, wide with betrayal. She saw him falling backward, not fighting, not attacking... just falling.
He looked at me; a treacherous voice whispered in her mind. He lowered his guard. He trusted me.
She stopped in the middle of the hallway. A cold sweat broke out on her neck.
"It was necessary," she whispered to the empty air.
But for the first time, she didn't believe it.
In the back of the library, tucked away in the dusty alcove behind the geography stacks where they used to plan impossible heists, three students sat in a silence that felt heavier than the stone walls around them. The table, once covered in blueprints, hand-drawn maps, and the chaotic energy of rebellion, was now bare. It looked like a tombstone.
Harry was staring at a piece of copper wire, a component from the radio he had built for Eiden. He wasn't fixing it; he was destroying it. He twisted the metal around his finger until the skin turned white, then red, then purple. With a final, sharp snap, the wire broke. He dropped the pieces, his hands trembling violently. His eyes were red and swollen behind his crooked glasses, the lenses smeared with tears he hadn't bothered to wipe away.
"He's gone," Harry whispered, the words scraping out of his throat. "He's really gone. My radio... it worked perfectly. And it didn't save him."
Hazel sat opposite him. Her thick textbook was open to a page on fluid dynamics, but she hadn't turned a page in an hour. She looked smaller, as if the physical space she occupied had shrunk along with her world. The fierce, calculating intelligence in her eyes was dimmed, replaced by a glassy, thousand-yard stare. She was trying to process the data, to make the math of the tragedy make sense.
"He fell into the channel during a Category 3 storm," Hazel said, her voice flat, reciting the variables like a grim eulogy. "Water temperature was 48 degrees. Swell height was fifteen feet. Impact velocity... plus hypothermia... plus blood loss." She closed the book with a soft, final thud. "Survival probability is... zero. It is a statistical impossibility."
"She killed him," Margot hissed. She was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the bookshelf, hugging her knees to her chest. She was rocking slightly, a rhythmic motion of pure trauma. "We saw it. We were right there. She didn't hesitate. She didn't flinch. She looked him in the eye—the boy who saved her life—and she killed him." Margot squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of the muzzle flash was burned into her retinas. "She looked like a demon."
"And now we work for her," Harry said, a sob finally catching in his throat, breaking his voice. "We're not just students anymore. We're accomplices. We're slaves to the murderer. Every time she looks at me... I feel like she's aiming that gun at my head."
"We're alive," Hazel said, though she sounded like she wished she wasn't. She adjusted her glasses, a nervous tic that had returned with a vengeance. "She kept us alive because we are useful. Assets. Just like Eiden was a 'threat' to be neutralized, we are 'tools' to be utilized. Eiden... he wouldn't want us to give up. He wouldn't want us to be pawns in her game."
"What can we do?" Margot asked, tears streaming down her face, cutting tracks through the dust on her cheeks. "We're nobodies. We're just... kids. He was the Wolf. He was the one who made us brave. Without him... we're nothing."
They sat there, the Pack without an Alpha, huddled in the dark corner of a hostile kingdom, feeling the crushing weight of a world where the bad guys had won, and the hero was just a body lost in the cold, dark sea.
Miles away, in the sun-drenched garden of the Cronus Estate, a very different gathering was taking place. It was a tea party. Porcelain cups, silver trays of pastries, and the sound of laughter. Sasha, Luna, Sophia, and Eva sat around a white iron table. They weren't wearing tactical gear. They wore floral dresses and sun hats. They looked like perfect, innocent schoolgirls. "Did you see his face?" Luna giggled, sipping her Earl Grey. "When she pulled the gun? He looked like a kicked puppy." "It was pathetic," Sasha agreed, reaching for a macaroni. "He really thought he 'saved' her. He actually thought he broke the programming." Sophia laughed. "The Wolf fell in love with the bait. Classic mistake."
"It was a brilliant plan," Eva said, admiring her manicure. "Mr. Cronus is a genius. He knew Emily couldn't kill the Wolf in a fair fight. Eiden broke Kane's bones. He took out a hit squad in the gym. Head-on? He would have disarmed her in a second." "Exactly," Sasha nodded. "So he created the stage, Emily even fabricated a photo, the boat. And that storm came like a blessing. The emotional overload. He put Eiden in the one position where he wouldn't fight back. He made Eiden want to be caught." "And then," Luna mimed a gun with her fingers, "Bang. The Princess pulls the trigger. No fight. Just an execution." " A fallen hero? More Like a fallen fool." They laughed again, the sound light and cruel, drifting over the manicured lawns. They toasted to their victory, to the death of a boy, as if it were nothing more than a successful school play.
Inside the mansion, in the dark study where the lies began, Akuma Cronus sat at his desk. He was alone. The room was silent. He picked up the phone. He dialed a number that wasn't in any book. It rang twice. "It is done," Akuma said. There was a pause on the other end. Then, a reedy, high-pitched voice answered. "The Wolf is dead?" "He is at the bottom of the sea," Akuma said. "My daughter... performed admirably." "Heh. Good," the voice cackled. "You were right to be afraid, Rook," Akuma said, leaning back in his chair. "He was... formidable. But he had a weakness. He had a heart." "Wolves always do," Rook spat. "So, the deal holds? The threat is gone?" "The threat is gone," Akuma confirmed. "The Academy is secure. My daughter is fully... integrated. We can proceed with the next phase." "Excellent," Rook said. "I'll be in touch, old friend." Akuma hung up. He walked to the window and looked down at the garden, at the girls laughing over tea. "Old friend," Akuma whispered to the glass, a cold sneer on his lips. "For now."