The next morning felt wrong.

  Not dramatically.

  Not visibly.

  Just... quieter.

  Too many empty seats in the dining hall. Too many instructors pretending not to count them.

  Ren poked at her porridge. "Okay, roll call—who's missing?"

  Cael didn't sit. He scanned the room, one sweeping, calculated look.

  "Rowan," he said.

  Lami froze. "From Fire division?"

  Ren's spoon clattered. "The one who always smells like smoke and impulsive choices??"

  Ayla remembered him—loud, competitive, deeply alive.

  "He didn't check into his dorm last night," Cael added.

  Lami's voice thinned. "Did anyone report it?"

  "Yes," Cael said. "And the Academy told them he's 'likely with family.'"

  Ren blinked. "Wow. That's a terrible lie. Not even trying."

  A hush spread through the dining hall—students were realizing the same thing:

  Someone vanished.

  And the Academy didn't want them to ask why.

  Ayla's chest tightened—not panic, not dread.

  Responsibility.

  "It wasn't the Order," she said.

  Cael nodded. "Too messy. Too visible."

  Ren frowned. "So... the Academy?"

  Lami whispered, "They're afraid. They think another student could be the spy."

  Silence fell like a dropped curtain.

  Because none of them disagreed.

  ?

  By midday, the Academy stopped pretending.

  Students were lined up outside the administrative hall—escorted in small groups, questioned one by one.

  Ren peeked around a stone pillar. "This feels like tax season for secrets."

  Cael crossed his arms. "They're establishing alibis. Movement patterns. Relationships."

  Lami swallowed. "Trying to identify who helped the intruder."

  Ayla didn't speak.

  Because something wasn't adding up.

  If the Academy wanted information, they would have called assemblies, questioned instructors, locked down every entry point.

  But instead—they were only questioning students.

  Ren finally said what everyone else avoided.

  "They think the Order is recruiting inside."

  Cael didn't correct her.

  Lami's eyes filled. "What if someone says Ayla—"

  "They won't," Cael said.

  Ren pointed. "Yeah, because we'll personally haunt them."

  Ayla shook her head. "People naming me wouldn't be betrayal—it would be fear."

  Ren stared at her. "Stop being understanding, it ruins my outrage."

  But Ayla wasn't focused on students.

  She was focused on absence.

  "Where's Eris?" she asked.

  Cael turned instantly—scanning.

  Ren frowned. "Right. She's always lurking dramatically. Where is she?"

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Lami checked the courtyard entrances. "Maybe she's being questioned?"

  "No," Ayla murmured. "She would have told me."

  Cael didn't ask how she knew—he trusted her instincts more than logic now.

  Ren's voice lowered. "Do you think she—"

  Ayla didn't let her finish.

  "No."

  But doubt hung anyway—thin, dangerous, eager.

  ?

  They were called into questioning next.

  A narrow room—one table, four chairs, no windows. The kind of space built to contain confessions.

  Thalen waited inside, hands folded neatly, expression polished.

  Ren muttered under her breath, "Oh great. Bureaucratic doom."

  "Sit," Thalen said.

  Not please.

  They obeyed, mostly because not doing so would be its own declaration.

  Thalen looked at Ayla first.

  "Where were you last night between eighth bell and dawn?"

  "With them," Ayla said, nodding to her team.

  Ren smiled sweetly. "She even tucked us in. Want a picture?"

  Lami elbowed her—gentle but desperate.

  Thalen's gaze skipped over Ren like she were an insect buzzing near a chandelier.

  Cael spoke evenly. "We didn't leave the dorm."

  "Can anyone verify that?" Thalen asked.

  Ren leaned forward. "Yeah. Us. The people who were THERE."

  Thalen ignored her again—professionally.

  Ayla met his stare—calm, unyielding. "If you believed the intruder was a student, you wouldn't be questioning us like suspects. You'd be interrogating us separately."

  Ren blinked. "Oh. Oh she's playing chess again—"

  Thalen didn't react—but his silence confirmed it.

  Lami whispered, "So... they don't think it's a student."

  "No," Cael said. "They think it's someone with access."

  A faculty member.

  An instructor.

  A guard.

  Someone trusted.

  Thalen ended the session abruptly.

  "You may go. Remain available."

  Ren stood slowly. "Oh we're VERY available. Emotionally, violently, sarcastically—"

  Cael dragged her out by the collar.

  Ayla left last—because Thalen waited for her.

  "Ayla Whitlock."

  She paused.

  He didn't look at her—he looked past her, through her, at whatever future he feared.

  "You are the reason they came."

  Ayla didn't deny it.

  "Maybe," she said. "But I'm not the reason they got in."

  And she walked out before he could answer.

  ?

  Outside, Ren paced aggressively. "Okay, new rule—nobody goes anywhere alone. We pee in groups now."

  Lami nodded, anxious. "Agreed."

  Cael didn't nod.

  He stared across the courtyard.

  At Eris.

  Standing completely still.

  Facing the orchard.

  Like she'd been waiting for someone to notice.

  Ren gasped. "OH GOOD. Traumatized staring. That's always promising."

  Ayla's stomach dropped—not with fear.

  With recognition.

  Something was wrong.

  They approached slowly—Lami first, gentle, always gentle.

  "Eris?"

  Eris didn't turn.

  Didn't blink.

  Didn't breathe deeply enough.

  Her posture was too perfect—like someone posing themselves.

  Ayla stepped beside her.

  "Eris."

  Still nothing.

  Then—

  Eris smiled.

  But not the real one.

  Not sharp.

  Not controlled.

  Not earned.

  An empty smile stretched onto her face like a mask someone forgot to remove.

  Ren backed up. "Oh no. No no no. That's horror-movie smiling."

  Cael inched forward—controlled, ready to intervene. "Eris. Look at me."

  She didn't.

  Her eyes never left the orchard.

  And when she finally spoke—

  her voice didn't belong to her.

  "They're already here."

  Lami gasped. Ren grabbed Ayla's arm like a lifeline.

  Cael's expression sharpened—not fear.

  Strategy.

  Ayla whispered, "Eris, who spoke to you?"

  Eris blinked—slow, mechanical.

  "The one who remembers."

  A chill crawled up Ayla's spine.

  Not metaphorical.

  Instinctive.

  Ancient.

  Ren whispered, "Okay, I don't like poetry anymore. Make it stop."

  Eris finally turned toward Ayla—

  and Ayla wished she hadn't.

  Because her pupils were dilated—not naturally, not chemically—

  magically.

  Someone had touched her mind.

  Gently.

  Deliberately.

  Successfully.

  Eris lifted her hand—and placed something into Ayla's palm.

  A tiny strip of parchment.

  Ayla unfolded it.

  Five words.

  Again.

  Stop waiting. Start listening.

  Cael exhaled—slow, dangerous. "They're escalating."

  Lami's voice cracked. "Is she—possessed?"

  "No," Ayla said. "Just opened."

  Ren flailed. "THAT IS NOT BETTER—"

  Ayla stepped closer to Eris—soft, careful. "What do you hear?"

  Eris answered immediately—too immediately.

  "Your name."

  Silence swallowed the courtyard.

  Not fear.

  Happening.

  Alya spoke gently. "Who said it?"

  Eris blinked—once, twice—and suddenly her breath stuttered, knees buckling.

  Cael lunged, catching her before she hit the ground.

  Lami knelt, shaking. "Is she okay??"

  Ren hovered, frantic. "Do we need a healer? A priest? A magically licensed therapist??"

  Ayla placed two fingers on Eris's wrist—steady pulse, normal heartbeat, temperature warm.

  "She's coming back."

  And she was—slowly, painfully, visibly.

  Her eyes refocused.

  Her breathing steadied.

  And then she saw them—and panic flooded her face, raw and terrified.

  "They were in my head."

  Alya nodded. "I know."

  "I couldn't stop them." Her voice cracked. "I couldn't even think."

  Ayla held her gaze—not pitying, not heroic.

  Present.

  "You don't have to apologize."

  Eris swallowed hard—humiliation threatening tears. "I'm supposed to be stronger than this."

  Ren crouched beside her. "Hey. If a magical cult hijacked my brain I'd be speaking in interpretive dance. You're doing great."

  Lami nodded fiercely. "This isn't weakness. It's warning."

  Cael stood slowly, eyes hard with realization. "They didn't do this to threaten Ayla."

  Ren frowned. "Then what was the point?"

  Ayla already knew.

  "To show access."

  Lami covered her mouth.

  Ren whispered, horrified, "They got to Eris... to tell you they could get to anyone."

  Ayla closed her fist around the parchment.

  The message wasn't just for her.

  It was a rule:

  The Order doesn't break in.

  They invite themselves.

  And the Academy had no defense against invitation.

  Eris trembled. "What do we do now?"

  Ayla looked at her team—loyal, flawed, furious, terrified, hers.

  And she finally made her first move.

  "We stop letting them choose the battlefield."

  Cael nodded once—approval and commitment.

  Lami exhaled—scared, but ready.

  Ren grinned—dangerously. "YES. Finally. My chaos has purpose."

  Eris wiped her eyes—and stood. "Tell me how to help."

  Ayla looked at her—truly looked.

  Then handed Eris the cracked ring.

  Her voice was quiet.

  Certain.

  "We start by finding out what they broke."

  Wind stirred—sharp, directional, waiting.

  For the first time—

  Ayla wasn't reacting.

  She was hunting.

  ?

  Far below, in the tunnels, the white-uniformed man paused mid-step.

  He smiled—different this time.

  Not satisfied.

  Excited.

  "She chose."

  And somewhere deeper in the dark—

  another voice answered.

  "So will we."

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