The Isolation Wing had no clocks.
No windows.
No sun.
No sound except air vents and quiet mechanical hums.
Time didn't move here.
It just hung, heavy and cold.
I sat on the cot—thin mattress, stiff sheets—and tried not to listen to the walls breathing.
Because that's what the room sounded like.
Breathing.
The ventilation shifted every few minutes, creating a soft inhale-exhale rhythm that made it impossible to forget I was inside something designed to study me, hold me, suppress me.
I pressed a hand to my sternum.
The faint ache from earlier—the pressure from the calibration—still lingered.
Not enough to suffocate.
Just enough to remind me:
You're caged.
I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose, slow and long.
But the quiet didn't help.
The quiet made everything louder.
My thoughts.
My fear.
My memories of the medbay.
Horace's voice breaking—
Elle… don't let them take you…
Rowan's sobbing—
Chandler—help her—please—
Chandler's voice, shaking—
They'll have to go through me first.
Lucian's whisper—
Hide this. We're coming.
My throat tightened.
The walls hummed again.
A soft chime echoed overhead:
"Prime subject: heart rate rising."
"Initiating relaxation sequence."
I almost laughed.
Relaxation.
Right.
The ceiling dimmed to a soft amber.
The ventilation slowed.
A faint calibration scent—mint, sterile—drifted from the vents.
Neutralizing.
Suppressing.
I gritted my teeth.
"No."
The air shifted.
The scent didn't vanish.
But it thinned.
Just enough that I could breathe past it.
A small, stubborn win.
Then—
a soft blink under the table.
Blue.
Steady.
Lucian again.
I slid off the bed and crouched near the table, pretending to inspect the floor as the light blinked in a slow pattern.
I whispered:
"You found the grid."
The blinking paused.
Then:
One blink.
"Okay."
Another blink.
"Still safe."
Two blinks.
"Don't do anything stupid."
A pause—
Three blinks.
"…you always do."
I bit down on a shaky laugh.
He was reckless.
And yet, he was the only one who always came through.
The light went out.
Silence returned.
I crawled back onto the cot and pulled my knees to my chest.
Waiting in the dark.
MEDBAY — ROWAN FALLS APART
Rowan curled into Chandler's lap again, small and trembling like his bones couldn't hold him up anymore.
It had been hours.
Or maybe less.
Or maybe more.
Chandler didn't know.
The clock on the medbay wall ticked, but time didn't count the same when someone you cared about was suffering.
Rowan whispered hoarsely:
"Chandler… I can't… I can't breathe…"
Chandler stroked his hair gently.
"It's okay. Just breathe slow. I'm here."
Rowan's hands fisted in Chandler's shirt.
"I—I can't feel her. I can't—there's nothing—nothing—Chandler, why is there nothing—?!"
His voice cracked, shrill with panic.
Chandler tightened his arms around him, rocking him slightly.
"Because she's deep underground," he murmured.
"You know that. The suppression field blocks scent. It doesn't mean she's not alive."
Rowan shook his head violently.
"No. No, I feel her disappearing. Like her scent is being crushed. Like she's—like she's drowning—Chandler, I can feel it—"
His breath stuttered.
He started hyperventilating.
Chandler immediately cupped Rowan's cheeks and forced gentle eye contact.
"Rowan. Breathe. With me. Right here. In—out—slow—"
Rowan sobbed.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't want to be like this—"
"You're not doing anything wrong," Chandler said firmly.
"You're scared. Anyone would be scared."
Rowan pressed his forehead to Chandler's collarbone.
"I feel like I'm breaking."
Chandler held him tighter.
"You're not breaking. You're overwhelmed. It's different."
"No," Rowan whispered.
"It's the same."
And Chandler—
for the first time in hours—
felt his heart break too.
HORACE — AWAKENING
Horace's vitals stabilized just long enough for Lucian to breathe.
Then destabilized again.
Three times.
Lucian rubbed both hands over his face, exhausted, terrified, furious all at once.
"Horace, stop moving. Please."
Horace didn't.
He pushed himself upright—weak, shaking—but upright.
"Where… is she…?"
Lucian flinched.
"In the Isolation Wing."
Horace's eyes snapped open—sharp, instinct-bright, furious.
"No…"
"Horace—"
"No.
No.
NO."
He tried to swing his legs off the bed.
He almost fell.
Lucian caught him.
Horace snarled, breath breaking:
"She's alone—she's scared—she can't breathe—Lucian LET ME GO—!!"
Lucian gripped him tighter.
"Horace—if you stand, you'll bleed internally."
"I DON'T CARE—!!"
His voice cracked.
Lucian froze.
Because beneath the rage—
beneath the panic—
beneath the instinct—
was something else.
Raw.
Devastating.
Fear.
Genuine, bone-deep fear.
Horace's voice shook.
"She's alone in the dark.
I can feel it.
I can feel her fear—"
Lucian whispered:
"You're not supposed to feel anything. The suppression grid should break all instinct feedback."
"But I DO," Horace choked.
"I feel her slipping."
Slipping.
Lucian's heart clenched.
Because he could see it in Horace's eyes:
If Elleanore fell apart down there—
Horace would too.
BACK IN ISOLATION — RESONANCE
I lay on my back on the cot, staring at the ceiling.
The breathing-vent rhythm hadn't changed.
The lights cycled again.
Dim.
Bright.
Dim.
Suppressing.
Testing.
Probing.
Another chime echoed:
"Emotional spike detected."
"Beginning sedation protocol—"
My eyes widened.
"No—"
My scent flared.
Barely.
Small.
Weak.
But enough.
The ceiling flickered.
The sedation stopped.
A soft error tone played:
"Unable to proceed. Prime resistance detected."
I let out a shaky, breathless laugh.
I wasn't powerful.
Not in this cage.
But I was enough.
Enough to disrupt.
Enough to push back.
Enough to keep myself conscious.
I whispered into the empty room.
"You don't get to take my feelings."
The lights steadied.
The vents calmed.
The room paused.
As though listening.
LUCIAN — TREASON BEGINS
Lucian moved down the hall alone.
Operatives were stationed everywhere.
Aris had ordered surveillance on him.
But he'd worked in this school too long not to know the blind spots.
He slipped into a maintenance alcove and opened a panel.
Inside—
a datapad.
Illegal.
Unregistered.
Connected to the Academy's internal grid.
He typed fast, eyes narrowed.
"Okay, Elleanore…
show me your chamber…"
The screen flickered.
A wireframe image of the Isolation Wing appeared.
He swiped to Chamber A-01.
"Found you."
He inserted a small chip—
the one he'd hidden in his palm earlier.
The screen blinked.
Accessing suppression grid…
Unauthorized.
Override attempt detected.
Security alert incoming in 30 seconds.
Lucian grinned.
"Good."
He typed faster.
A bypass.
A loop.
A false feed.
The alert vanished.
He exhaled.
"Now let's break you out of that cage."
CHANDLER — THE VOW
Chandler sat with Rowan still curled in his lap, small and trembling.
Rowan's breathing had slowed.
Not calm.
Just exhausted.
Chandler whispered:
"Hey… Rowan…"
"Mmmm…?"
Rowan's voice was tiny.
"You know she's strong, right?"
A small nod.
"She's not giving up."
Another nod.
"And we're not either."
Rowan lifted his gaze.
His eyes were soaked, red, but steady enough to look at Chandler.
"Will we… get her back?"
Chandler hesitated.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Rowan noticed.
He always noticed.
"Chandler…"
Chandler swallowed hard.
His voice came out low.
Steady.
Even.
"We will."
Rowan blinked.
"You promise?"
Chandler cupped both sides of Rowan's face and spoke with absolute quiet conviction:
"I will go down there myself if I have to."
Rowan's breath hitched.
"I'll go with you."
Chandler kissed his forehead gently.
"I know."
HORACE — THE TRUTH
Horace lay back against the medbay bed, trembling, breath shaking, soaked with sweat.
Lucian held a cool cloth to his forehead.
Horace whispered:
"Lucian…"
"Yes?"
"Tell me… the truth."
Lucian paused.
Horace's voice was barely audible.
"…am I… dying?"
Lucian went still.
Slowly—painfully—he shook his head.
"No.
But if you keep fighting like this…
you might."
Horace's jaw clenched.
"Then let me go to her."
"I can't."
"Lucian—please—please—she needs me—"
Lucian leaned close.
His voice broke.
"And I need you alive. For her. You understand?
Alive."
Horace shuddered.
His throat tightened.
Lucian whispered:
"You're in love with her."
Horace didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't deny it.
Lucian sighed softly.
"Then live long enough to tell her."
ISOLATION — THE FIRST CRACK
The room hummed again.
A familiar vibration under the floor.
Different this time.
Subtle.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Not suppression.
Resonance.
I sat up slowly.
My breath hitched.
Because I could feel something—
not scent
not instinct
but something—
connecting.
Soft.
Faint.
Almost like—
Elle…
Horace.
Faint and far away—
but clearer than before.
The suppression grid was slipping.
And not on its own.
Lucian.
I pressed my hand to the floor, whispering:
"I'm here."
Something under the panel flickered with a soft spark.
Lucian was pushing the grid from above.
I breathed in slowly.
Not enough to break free.
But enough to stay awake.
Enough to feel my people.
Enough to survive.
The lights flickered—
and the system whispered:
"Prime subject resistant."
"Interference detected."
I smiled weakly.
"You're damn right."
The room dimmed.
The vents softened.
And for the first time—
the Isolation Wing
felt cracks forming in its walls.
Not physical cracks.
Instinctual ones.
Because the system didn't know how to contain someone who refused to break.
Someone who refused to be alone.
Someone whose people were coming.