The Prime Subject's footsteps faded into the darkness.
Each fading echo loosened the tight coil wound inside my chest—
but the fear didn't disappear.
Not even close.
Horace sagged unconscious in my arms.
Rowan was shaking violently against Chandler's chest.
Lucian leaned against a console, breath shallow, sweat beading at his temple.
And me—
My pulse throbbed in my ears.
My limbs tingled.
My scent burned like wildfire beneath my skin.
I sank to my knees, gripping Horace tightly.
"…Elleanore?"
Lucian's voice reached me, faint but sharp.
"Don't move. Your body's still recalibrating from the scent surge."
I swallowed hard.
"What… what just happened to me?"
Lucian approached slowly.
"You triggered a Prime-level pheromone force. Something that shouldn't be possible unless evolution is far past early stage."
My breath hitched.
"What stage am I in?"
Lucian hesitated.
Rowan stopped sobbing for just a moment—his head lifting weakly from Chandler's shoulder.
Chandler rubbed small circles on Rowan's back, murmuring,
"It's okay… you're safe… I've got you…"
Lucian exhaled.
"Elleanore… you're not in stage one anymore."
A cold chill crawled up my spine.
"What stage, then?"
Lucian met my eyes.
"…Three."
My blood iced over.
"Stage three?" Chandler frowned. "Is that bad?"
"It's catastrophic," Lucian said bluntly.
Rowan whimpered.
Chandler cupped the back of Rowan's neck, grounding him gently.
Lucian crouched in front of me.
"Elleanore… Prime evolution has four stages."
Rowan squeezed his eyes shut.
"I know t-that…" he whispered.
"They showed us charts… tried to scare us… always said Prime subjects die before stage three…"
Lucian nodded grimly.
"That's why her having reached stage three so early is—"
"Impossible," I finished faintly.
"More than impossible." Lucian said. "It's unheard of."
My heart hammered.
"Explain the stages," I said quietly. "Now."
Lucian took a breath.
"Stage one is instability.
Emotional spikes. Scent fluctuations.
You've had those for a while."
I nodded slowly.
"Stage two is early mutation.
Higher scent density.
Your influence becomes… overwhelming."
Chandler muttered, "We noticed."
Rowan trembled against him.
"I felt it all the way across the room…"
Lucian continued.
"Stage three is what you triggered just now.
A pheromone blast strong enough to override an Alpha, a crowd… or a prototype."
"And stage four?" I whispered.
Lucian hesitated.
I knew that hesitation.
I'd seen it in doctors' eyes.
Teachers' eyes.
My parents' eyes when they tried to comfort me after Elliot disappeared.
"…Lucian," I whispered.
"What happens in stage four?"
Rowan whimpered, shaking his head like he didn't want to hear it.
Lucian finally spoke.
"Stage four is irreversible."
My breath caught.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning Prime subjects lose control of their instincts permanently.
Their scent becomes lethal to anyone without a Prime signature.
And they… break."
Rowan sobbed.
Chandler held him tighter, whispering,
"Don't listen, sweetheart… don't think about that… breathe…"
Lucian lowered his voice.
"Elleanore, if you reach stage four, the Crown will never let you walk free again."
I felt my chest cave inward.
Horace shifted faintly in my arms.
"…El…leanore…"
I brushed his hair back gently.
"I'm here."
Lucian stood.
"We have one goal now: keep you alive and keep you from reaching stage four."
I swallowed.
"And to do that…"
Lucian nodded.
"We need to understand why you're evolving so fast.
And what connection you have to the Prototype."
Rowan tensed violently.
"I remember something…"
His voice trembled.
"Something about the prototype…"
Chandler blinked and rubbed his back.
"What is it?"
Rowan clutched Chandler's sleeve tightly.
"That night they took me…"
he whispered shakily.
"I heard something… something they said… I think I tried to forget it but—"
His entire body shook.
Chandler cupped his cheeks gently.
"You're safe. Say it slow."
Rowan sucked in a breath.
"They said—
'The Prototype reacts to bloodline scents.'"
His voice cracked.
"And then they said—
'The Fonze scent is the trigger.'"
I froze.
Lucian stiffened.
Chandler's eyes widened.
Rowan continued, voice nearly breaking:
"That's why it came for Elliot first…
Why it smelled him from so far away…
Why it dragged him…
Why it remembered him…"
My breath stuttered.
"It wasn't looking for him," Lucian whispered.
"It was looking for you."
My pulse thundered.
Chandler whispered,
"Oh my god…"
Rowan sobbed.
"I told them Elliot smelled like someone else that night—like someone not-human.
But they didn't believe me."
He cried harder, clutching Chandler desperately.
"They said it was trauma… said I was making it up… but I wasn't. I wasn't—"
Chandler held him tighter.
"I know you weren't," he whispered fiercely.
"You were right. You were always right."
Lucian looked at me soberly.
"Elleanore.
The Prototype is bonded to your bloodline.
Your scent.
Not just your evolution."
I swallowed hard.
"So it hunted Elliot because…"
Lucian nodded.
"He smelled like you."
A sharp, painful ache exploded in my chest.
It hurt to breathe.
Horace stirred weakly again, as if sensing my pain.
His lips parted.
"Ellea…
don't cry…"
I laid my forehead gently against his cheek.
"I'm not," I whispered, though my voice trembled.
Lucian straightened.
"We need to get out of this vault now. The Prime Subject will return once it recalibrates from your scent surge."
Chandler stood, lifting Rowan in his arms effortlessly.
Rowan wrapped around him instinctively, clinging like a trembling shadow.
Lucian motioned toward the far exit.
"This passage leads to the old training wing.
Less secure, but it'll buy us time."
I nodded and shifted Horace in my arms.
As we moved toward the dark passage, Horace's head rested against my shoulder.
He whispered faintly—
"Elleanore…"
"Yes?"
"Don't… be scared…
I'm right here…"
His voice cracked and faded as he slipped back into unconsciousness.
But his hand—
weak as it was—
found mine
and didn't let go.
I tightened my grip on him.
"I know," I whispered.
"I'm right here too."
The lights faded behind us.
We stepped deeper into the shadows.
Carrying the weight of what we were—
and the fear of what we might become.
Between the Walls
The old training wing didn't look like part of an academy.
It looked like a forgotten bunker.
Concrete walls.
Cracked floors.
Flickering lights that hummed with a strange, unsettling frequency.
Metal rails along the ceiling—once used for scent drills, now rusted and crooked.
Horace's weight pressed warmly against my shoulder as I carried him forward.
His forehead grazed my jaw each time I shifted my grip.
His breath ghosted against my collarbone—shallow but steady.
Lucian kept the lead, scanning intersection points with wary eyes.
Behind us, Chandler walked carefully, arms around Rowan's waist.
Rowan stayed close, shaking, fingers locked into Chandler's sleeve like it was the only anchor he had left in a collapsing world.
Every few steps Rowan winced.
Every echo made him jump.
Every dark corner made him shudder.
Chandler whispered to him softly, constantly.
"Don't look down that hall."
"There's nothing behind us. Just the pipes."
"You're doing perfectly. Just keep breathing for me."
"I'm not letting you go."
Rowan nodded each time, but his eyes stayed wide—
haunted, exhausted, terrified.
And yet still moving.
Still here.
THE TRAINING WING
Lucian paused at a rusted doorway.
"This is it," he whispered.
"The old instinct corridors."
Chandler frowned.
"Meaning?"
Lucian exhaled.
"They trained early prototypes here. Tested how they responded to scent triggers and obstacle shifts."
My stomach tightened.
"You mean this wing was built for the… experiments."
Lucian nodded grimly.
"Yes."
Rowan whimpered.
Chandler pulled him closer.
"Don't think about it."
Rowan whispered:
"I remember this smell…
the dust… the cold metal…
I've been here… once… they brought me here after—"
His voice broke off, trembling.
Chandler rubbed his back.
"Don't say it. You don't have to say anything you don't want to."
Rowan pressed his forehead into Chandler's neck.
"I want to help," he whispered shakily.
"I want to be useful. I don't want to slow anyone down."
Chandler cupped the back of Rowan's head gently.
"You're not slowing anyone.
You're here.
You're alive.
That's already more than any of them ever expected from you."
Rowan swallowed, tears brimming again.
Lucian approached him slowly.
"Rowan," he said gently,
"what you remember—
it could save all of us."
Rowan tensed.
Lucian crouched in front of him.
"You're not their subject anymore.
You're not a number.
You're a survivor.
No one here will hurt you."
Rowan's voice shook.
"I… I don't remember everything. I tried so hard to forget—"
"That's okay," Chandler whispered, cheek brushing Rowan's temple.
Rowan inhaled shakily.
"They said…
'She won't survive stage four without a stabilizer.'"
I froze.
Lucian whipped around.
"What did you say?"
Rowan's hands trembled.
"That's what the scientist said that night.
'The Fonze subject can't reach stage four without a stabilizer.'
I didn't know what it meant.
I didn't want to know."
My breath quickened.
"A stabilizer…? Like a drug? A procedure?"
Rowan shook his head.
"No…
they were talking about a person."
Lucian went pale.
Chandler cursed softly under his breath.
Rowan continued:
"They said:
'The Prime requires a stabilizing bond.
Find the matching signature.'"
Everything inside me went cold.
"A matching signature…" I whispered.
Rowan nodded weakly.
"Yes.
A scent that aligns with yours enough to hold you together if you evolve too fast."
"And what if they never find that match?" Chandler asked.
Rowan swallowed.
"Then the Prime subject breaks."
Silence fell across the entire hallway.
Horace stirred faintly in my arms, voice hoarse:
"Elleanore…
don't believe them…"
My throat tightened painfully.
Chandler rubbed Rowan's hands to warm them.
"Do you know who they meant?" Chandler asked quietly.
Rowan hesitated.
Then he nodded.
Chandler's grip stilled.
"Rowan," he whispered slowly,
"tell us."
Rowan's tears spilled over.
"I think…
I think they meant someone from your bloodline."
My heart clenched.
Lucian's breath hitched.
"Elleanore," he whispered.
"That explains why the Prime Subject responds to you.
Why Elliot triggered it.
Why you overpower it."
My hands trembled around Horace.
"But who could stabilize me?" I whispered.
Rowan wiped his eyes.
"It had to be someone who smelled like you.
Someone whose scent could pull you back from stage four."
"Another Prime?" Chandler asked.
Rowan shook his head.
"No.
They didn't want a Prime pair.
They wanted something rarer."
Lucian frowned.
"Rarer?"
Rowan whispered:
"A scent bond."
My chest tightened.
"Scent bond…? But no one—"
Rowan's eyes flicked to Horace in my arms.
Chandler's jaw dropped.
Lucian froze completely.
Horace—half-conscious—breathed against my neck:
"Elleanore…
don't leave me…"
Rowan whispered:
"The scientists said…
'The Prime will always seek its stabilizer.'
'Its scent partner.'
'Its chosen match.'"
Chandler exhaled sharply.
"So you're saying—"
Rowan nodded shakily.
"I think the person who can stabilize her… is already with her."
Lucian stared at Horace.
At me.
At the faint scent thread between us.
"The Crown realized it too late," Rowan whispered.
"They realized who her match was."
I swallowed hard, heart pounding.
"And who is that?"
Rowan's answer was soft but steady:
"Prince Horace."
THE INSTINCT THREAD
My breath caught violently.
"Horace…?" I whispered.
Rowan nodded.
"Your scents align.
I felt it the moment you walked in the room during my meltdown.
The way his scent calmed you.
The way yours stabilized him even when he was dying."
Chandler stared in disbelief.
Lucian muttered,
"That's why the Crown kept watching him.
That's why they always kept you two close.
They weren't monitoring him…
They were monitoring you."
I felt dizzy.
Horace murmured faintly again, stirring:
"Ellea…?
What… is it…?"
I held his cheek gently.
"Nothing. Just rest."
But my heart thundered.
Rowan wiped his eyes again.
"Do you know what it means when a Prime subject finds their stabilizing match?"
His voice cracked.
"It means that the match's scent can stop a stage four collapse."
I stared at him.
"You're saying… Horace can stop me from breaking."
Rowan nodded slowly.
"I think he's the only one who can."
A tremor burst through the metal above us.
CLANG.
We all stiffened.
Lucian cursed.
"It's in the vents."
Rowan clutched Chandler's shirt.
"It's tracking her again—"
Chandler whispered, voice tight:
"Then we keep moving."
Lucian motioned forward.
"That door ahead—
it leads to the old scent-trial chamber.
We can barricade there until—"
SCRAAAAPE—
The sound ripped across the ventilation shafts.
Closer.
Hunting.
Rowan whimpered.
Chandler wrapped his arms around him protectively, pulling him against his chest.
Lucian snapped:
"GO!"
I held Horace tight and sprinted.
Rowan clung to Chandler.
Chandler carried him without hesitation.
Lucian forced the door open and herded us inside.
But just before he closed the door—
A metallic voice whispered from the vents above:
"Found you."