7 And suddenly, she felt heat creeping up the back her neck again. Her chest felt warm - her scent might be creeping too close to the surface. But she couldn't tell.

Her binding could not dare fade for once or she'd die.

Elowyn stood up quickly, pushing her tray and grabbing her bag.

"Bathroom." she murmured. No one really noticed.

She rushed through the back hallway and ducked into a small tiled washroom near the eastern wall.

The door slammed. She braced both hands against the sink, breathing hard.

Then she reached beneath her coat - pulled out the binding flask.

And drank.

One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps. Her throat burned as the herbs surged through her system, tightening her scent, cooling her blood.

Her pulse slowed.

She wiped her mouth, stared at herself in the cracked mirror. Her reflection didn't feel like hers anymore.

"I need to write Mia once I get to the dorm." She whispered hoarsely. "She needs to know everything."

This place wasn't just brutal. It was buzzing with wolves - with politics, rank, and teeth.

And she might be one wrong breath away from being torn open.

★★★

★★★

"Dear Elowyn...."

The letter wrote itself with a soft feather pen on a clean sheet of paper, even as Mia lay in the cave lit by blue-glowing moss and the faint hum of her magical familiars.

Their wingless shapes hovered like around her, whispering in a volume only her bloodline could hear.

She'd been here for days. Or weeks. Time moved oddly in the spirit veil.

Alone.

"I'm not supposed to miss you. I'm supposed to be brave. But dear, Elowyn... I'm so lonely."

She hugged her knees to her chest, the parchment hovering mid-air, ink dancing across it with her thoughts.

"This cave - it's deep, cold, and full of memories that don't belong to me. These familiar spirits... they obey. They heal. They serve. But they aren't my family. They aren't you."

She bit her lower lip. Blinked back the sting in her eyes.

"Maybe I shouldn't even be writing this. Maybe you're out there in real danger and I'm here whining. I hate myself for it."

A soft hum rose nearby - two of her oldest familiars, Jahmi and Quenly, materialized briefly beside her. Their voices echoed in the gloom.

"You're being hunted, Mia. Haspan seeks all ties to Elowyn. You must stay veiled. You mustn't speak too loudly through the veil."

She stiffened. She hadn't known it was that bad.

"If they find you...." Quenly said gravely. "....they will use your blood as bait to find her."

Mia reached out and touched the feather pen. It pulsed beneath her fingers.

"So I hide. I stay low. And I dream of you making it out of there."

She sighed softly.

"I'm scared too, El. Your Loyal Friend, Mia."

Her breath trembled. She lay back on the bed and squeezed the floating letter then held it in her fist, it melted into her palm, sealed by magic.

"But if I have to die again to keep you alive, I will." Mia whispered.

She closed her eyes, and the cave dimmed further as her breathing slowed. Sleep tugged at her, and the spirits circled her protectively.

★★★

★★★

Finally, the dreaded class had arrived.

The whole academy came marching in. And as usual, Elowyn was timidly queued behind the mass of able-bodied males.

The scenting arena was no ordinary classroom. It was a large and circular platform surrounded by stone tiers and wooden beams draped with clan flags and designs. It felt ancient. Ceremonial.

Elowyn stood near the edge of the crowd, her fingers trembling lightly as she thought of the flask in her bag.

One sip left.

Just one.

The platform ahead rose slowly. Two instructors stood on it - one broad-shouldered with a bronze neck cuff, and one tall and severe with silver beads in his braids.

"Welcome to the first Scenting Class of the semester," the tall instructor said. His voice echoed, firm and precise. "This is where the truth of who you are will be revealed...."

A beat.

"Scents are not mere natural perfumes. They are the language of the blood."

"They confirm compatibility."

"They signal rank."

"They protect, seduce, deceive, and sometimes... betray."

Murmurs rustled through the students. Some shifted uncomfortably.

"Silence!"

Silence.

Elowyn kept her face blank.

"Scenting...." the male added. "....is the only law nature never lies about."

The speaker stepped forward.

"Now, those of you who are naturally gifted in scenting, step forward. Stand in the circle. Seniors, follow. Three straight lines."

A dozen new cadets moved instantly - many alphas, a few betas, one or two with golden clan bands. Some newbies, too. Elowyn stayed frozen.

"Gifted newbies will each walk among the other newbies, betas and alpha seniors...." the broad-shouldered man said. "....and choose who their instincts identify as a potential pack-fellow. Now. Seniors, queue at that corner."

Gasps and excitement stirred the group. A few cadets puffed stood straight. Some looked anxious.

There was an instant rearrangement.

The newbies who were good at scenting were left in the circle.

"There is no talking. No gestures. Just scent. Let your wolf decide. You can shut your eyes."

And the junior, natural scenters stepped into the arena.

Elowyn's heart nearly stopped.

Because the boy who had said creepy things to her at the gathering hall at 5:00 AM was looking at her somehow and had joined them - his eyes sharp, his nose twitching already like he was looking for something.

Or someone.

And she was standing at the back of the queue.

Scent still bound. But barely. Maybe.

And Baron? Standing far to the left, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

Please.... please stop looking at me, Elowyn begged in her head silently.

But the game had already begun.

One by one, the scent-gifted cadets closed their eyes, bowed their heads, and began to move through the still crowd.

Their movements were slow, predatory. Almost reverent.

The boy moved like a bloodhound on the trail. Not too fast. Not too eager. But with purpose. He sniffed as he passed each row, pausing at some shoulders, dismissing others without so much as a glance.

Elowyn's breath slowed. She needed to try and relax.

Baron's gaze flicked to her from where he stood. For a moment, it looked like his eyes narrowed - not in suspicion, but recognition. His wolf, already strained, might be responding. Again.

The strange newbie was drawing closer.

She looked away. Bit the inside of her cheek.

Another new cadet, a bulky silver-haired Beta, suddenly froze in front of a tall Alpha at the edge. He opened his eyes, nodded once.

"This one." he said. "My wolf recognizes his bloodline."

Cheers rose. The Alpha clapped him on the back. The instructors scribbled something.

Lucian moved forward again.

Now he was just two rows away.

Elowyn clenched her fists.

Don't sniff me. Don't sniff me.

Then, it happened.

Lucian paused.

Dead center in front of her row.

The air shifted.

His nostrils flared. Once. Then twice. Slowly, he turned his head, and the corner of his lips curled up.

"That smell of yours...."

He took one step forward. And stood there for seconds.

Elowyn's knees locked.

Baron straightened.

"Cadet Riven Thorney...." Barked one of the instructors from the platform. "....you have thirty seconds. Find your match or step back."

Riven looked like he was about to say something then stopped. Slowly, he moved down one more line instead. Past her. His fingers twitched.

He hadn't chosen her.

But his eyes... they flicked back.

And she knew.

He'd scented something off.

But he wasn't sure. Yet.

Riven Thorney moved on.

Elowyn didn't breathe until he stepped back into the inner circle and gave a single nod to a male from a northern clan.

The instructors clapped once.

"That concludes the scenting by the Gifted. Count your marks. Remember who chose you. Those matches will be watched throughout the semester."

The crowd hummed with pride, whispers of who chose who flying through the air.

But one name echoed the loudest.

"Baron Ortega...." one of the instructors called. "....has been selected by nineteen cadets. Highest tally. The Wolf-Heir carries ⅓ of the crowd's recognition."

Gasps. Applause. Even some bows.

Elowyn stayed still. Her hands felt clammy.

Baron didn't react. He stood with his arms down, unmoved by the attention.

But his eyes - dark, calculating - flicked toward her. Just for a second.

The second part of the class began.

"Now, those newbies who are unable to scent properly...." The bronze-necked instructor barked. ".... form a line to the right. You will be chosen instead. Your bodies may not know how to search, but maybe they know how to be found."

Elowyn joined the line, stomach twisting.

There were at least a hundred and something newbie cadets in the non-scenting group. Most were upcoming Alphas or young Betas - confused, nervous.

She stood still.

The Alphas were instructed to step forward.

"Pick whoever draws your wolf. Do not think. Do not judge. Move."

One by one, the Alphas walked through the line. Hands touching shoulders. Sniffing necks. Murmurs of "mine" spread like wildfire.

Elowyn stared ahead. Silent. Still.

Her flask had drained earlier. Her scent should be bound. But now... now she couldn't even smell herself. Could they?

Could they tell something was off?

Another boy beside her was chosen - cheered, even. One boy bowed when the high-ranking Alpha Caelan Volke squeezed his shoulder with a thumbprint of approval.

And then...

Elowyn was the last one.

Unpicked.

Unclaimed.

Unseen.

The instructors paused. The crowd slowly quieted.

One of the instructors with broad shoulders, looked at her - then at the others.

"No Alpha chose you?"

Elowyn's mouth dried. She shook her head once.

The silence thickened.

"Then, you must be scentless."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone coughed, someone else snorted.

"Scentless?"

"Like dead meat-"

"Silence," barked Caelan Volke suddenly, his voice sharp and deadly. "You shame the Pack by mocking what you don't understand."

The crowd froze.

Caelan's eyes locked on Elowyn.

And though his voice saved her, his gaze said something else entirely.

I'm watching you.

Elowyn's fingers curled tightly in her palms.

This was worse than being discovered.

She wasn't found. She was nothing.

She sighed. Shoulders stiff. Eyes burning. Head bowed.

She wouldn't cry. Never!

Her scent might've been hidden... but the shame? That lingered like blood on fresh snow.

The instructors' voices thundered once more, cutting through the fog of curiosity and silence and tension in the scenting arena.

"Gather in groups!" One barked. "Each Alpha, step forward with your chosen cadets. Betas, you know where you belong. Newbies, follow your markers. You've been scented, you've been claimed - stand where your wolf now answers."

Boots shuffled, bodies moved.

Elowyn didn't.

How could she when no one understood her smell.

She stood awkwardly in the middle as the crowd broke into clusters around the stone platform. Twenty-one distinct groups had formed - each built around an Alpha who'd been chosen. Some were as few as thirty. Some as large as forty. Baron, sixty.

Only one stood alone.

Elowyn Froste.

The instructor scanned the groups, then his eyes slid back to her.

"You there. Scentless. Step forward."

Elowyn walked to the center slowly, fists clenched at her side.

The instructor turned to the rest. "Before we close this session, we'll test the instincts of every Alpha once more. All Alphas... will be given the chance to allow this cadet into their grouping."

Elowyn froze.

Wait... what?

Her gaze darted. Some cadets were whispering already. Others staring openly.

The instructor raised his voice. "All Alphas - if you feel a draw, a tolerance, a hint that she could belong to your pack - step forward and nod."

She stood straighter. Not because she wanted to - but because she had to.

One by one, each Alpha was addressed.

And one by one, they shook their heads.

A few looked amused. Others, disinterested.

One Alpha wouldn't stop staring through her. He had long, black hair pinned at the back of his head. Sinister.

Azpen, the cocky young heir from the southern quarters, laughed out loud. "That one? She's barely wolf. My scent nearly left the room just standing next to her." He waved a dismissive hand.

"No." Caelan Volke declared. "Not mine."

"Next."

"No."

"Not a chance."

It hurt. Every. Single. One.

By the time the twentieth Alpha had passed, Elowyn's ears were ringing. Her vision burned - but she still hadn't blinked.

And then came the last name.

"Baron Ortega."

Silence rippled instantly.

All heads turned toward him.

He stood still, arms still folded, eyes unreadable - that same clean aura that demanded attention without begging for it.

Baron said nothing for a while.

Then... he uncrossed his arms and took one step forward.

"I don't sense anything." He said calmly.

Another pause.

"But she doesn't repel me either."

Shockwaves everywhere.

"That counts." One of the instructors said sharply, before anyone could argue. "Neutrality is a form of acceptance."

Baron didn't look at her.

But the damage was already done.

"Group 21 now includes the scentless." the instructor confirmed. "Cadet Elyan Froste will be under the Ortega line."

"Evening assessment bouts will be early today! Assemble!"

And just like that - just like that - Elowyn belonged somewhere.

Or so it was written.

But the sneer that followed from Azpen made her chest twist.

As they all began moving apart to exit the hall, Azpen strutted past her, his hand slapping the back of her head just light enough to look like nothing happened - but hard enough to sting.

"Try walking straighter next time," he muttered under his breath. "And stop drinking all those damn purifying herbs. You reek like a lying corpse."

He walked off laughing.

Elowyn blinked fast. Swallowed harder.

She followed the rest of Group 21.

Head high.

Even if it killed her.

Because this wasn't about scent anymore.

This was about survival.

★★★

★★★

The sun had barely begun to fall when the twenty-one groups were spread out across the Outer Field once again - this time, for the Evening Assessment Bouts.

Elowyn stood at the edge of Group 21, trying to breathe through the raw ache in her legs. She was getting weaker.

"Pair up." The new instructor commanded.

There was five of them on the high podium.

"Test your reflexes. Show what your scent claims mean in combat. Seniors aren't meant to be here but for the sake of the first day, they'll watch."

Elowyn was suddenly shoved forward. Her opponent was a newbie male - tall, sharp-shouldered, eager to prove a point.

It wasn't a fight.

It was a storm.

She was hit. Tossed. Spun. Slapped.

Her knees scraped stone. Her shoulder thudded against the ground. A small whimper escaped her before she could trap it.

Silence bubbled around.

"She's not even trying." someone muttered.

Baron Ortega's gaze lifted from his place, calm yet dark.

Elowyn stumbled up again.

Her hands trembled. Her eyes glistened.

Then, her opponent shoved her down one last time.

"Enough!" a voice barked.

The bout ended. But the damage didn't.

Baron stared at her - not with pity. Not with anger.

But with something in between.

Why did seeing her hurt make his wolf rise?

He scowled and looked away, disgusted with himself. Disgusted with the stupid prince.

Elyan Froste was nothing.

So why did he feel like a stone in his chest?

"Cut. Breathe."

★★★

★★★

Ariya sat quietly by the window of the marital chambers, the sun reflecting pale and thin across the floor.

The locks clicked open from outside, her husband entered, the door slamming behind him.

"You're still dressed?" His voice was laced with annoyance.

She said nothing. She just stared ahead.

"Answer me!" Sergius barked, enraged.

He grabbed her arm - not with care. His grip bruised. He pulled her up.

"I'm your husband, Ariya. You must support me in this. Alpha Haspan Cosmoses will always find that girl. You don't want to piss him.."

She pulled back, slowly.

"I'm tired." she whispered.

He scoffed, stepping closer. "Tired? You've done nothing but breathe air I provide and defy me. You put me in trouble. You'll pay!"

He yanked the chair from beneath her. She didn't fall, but it shook her.

"You will learn...." He said coldly, "....to obey. And to be silent."

Then he walked out. He locked the door.

The silence that followed was worse than his voice.

Ariya picked up the fallen chair. Her hands trembled.

But her eyes?

Cold. Furious. Awake.

★★★

★★★

Elowyn didn't rise this time.

Her opponent had flung her to the side hard enough that the edge of the stone arena met her rib. She curled into herself, chest heaving. Bile rising.

The whispers faded into ringing.

Until a hand grabbed her arm.

Not harsh. Not gentle either.

Firm. Commanding.

Baron Ortega.

His face was unreadable. His eyes like frost.

Without a word, he stooped and lifted her. From the back of her casual vest.

Gasps rippled through the cadets.

"Whoa-"

"Is he carrying him-"

"Isn't that the scentless-"

Elowyn's breath caught. She stared at the ground, dazed.

But Baron didn't look down. His jaw was tight. His steps - swift, precise.

He set her down gently against one of the stone columns at the edge of the field, then stepped back immediately.

"Someone else will replace him." he muttered.

She tried to speak.

"Save it." he snapped, still not looking at her. "You want to survive here? Stop fighting like an underfed stick. Shame."

The others laughed.

Then he turned.

Walked away.

Left her there.

But not before every single person had seen what he'd done.

Not before Elowyn realized....

She had made him feel something.

And in this academy, that was both dangerous and rare.