Madame Halloway clapped her hands lightly.
"Elior, go pack your things. And do try not to burn the orphanage down while you're at it."
He inclined his head, expression unreadable, and walked toward his room.
Turning to the couple, she added politely, "Mrs. Linden, please sign these papers."
Elior stepped out, and the hallway immediately changed.
Students flooded forward, mostly girls from the Smart Floor and the Kind Floor, some teachers sneaking in behind.
"You're adopted!" they shouted, voices full of excitement.
"Congratulations!"
Elior sighed. Of course they would celebrate. Like the universe cares about subtlety.
"Don't get too comfortable," someone whispered. "He'll be back in two days!"
He only shook his head, moving calmly toward his room.
Inside, he started packing his bag.
He wore a black baseball cap, slightly tilted, black jacket zipped halfway over a grey hoodie, dark jeans tucked neatly into scuffed sneakers.
Backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
Every piece functional, but enough style to look deliberate.
Cassian appeared in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets.
His face was calm, but his eyes betrayed a storm.
"You're really leaving," Cassian said, voice steady but low.
Elior glanced at him, expression flat.
Cassian took a careful step closer. "Look, wherever you go… don't ever forget—whatever they say, whatever happens—you're not just some troublemaker they'll forget. You're smart, you're capable, and… you actually make people notice. And that's good, even if you hate it."
Elior finally lifted his gaze.
Cassian's seriousness was rare. Not another lecture, he thought.
But somehow it mattered.
Cassian continued, softer now, almost like a whisper "Keep them guessing. Keep being… you. And if anyone tells you you can't—ignore them. Because you already can."
Elior's shoulders shifted slightly, as if acknowledging it silently.
Then Cassian did something even more rare he hugged him. Strong, quick, but meaningful.
Elior froze.
Big eyes widened under his black hair.
Then, with his usual quiet compliance, he hugged back.
Just a firm, measured squeeze—not over, not weak.
Pulling back, Cassian gave a half-smile, half-grimace. "Try not to get hit by cars, okay?"
Elior tilted his cap, silent, and started down the hall, backpack swinging lightly, leaving Briarwell behind—but not entirely.
The students watched him go, cheers fading into whispers.
Cassian stayed in the doorway, muttering under his breath:
"Go. Make them regret not knowing you sooner."
And Elior walked on, unreadable, quiet, but somehow carrying every expectation and every warning like armor.
----------- ++++++++++----------------
Elior stepped onto the back curb.
He looked at Briarwell Orphanage one last time. Four floors, each with its own chaos, each with its own stories.
His eyes lingered briefly on the cracked window of the Smart Floor.
On the Menace Floor.
On the Kind Floor.
Then he turned and got into the waiting car.
"Yes!!" someone shouted from behind. He didn't look back. Of course he didn't.
The car slid into the quiet streets.
Inside, the Lindens were already bickering. The radio played, half their favorite station, half the wrong songs.
"That's not what I asked for!" Mrs. Linden snapped.
"Too loud! Turn it down!" Mr. Linden countered.
Elior tilted his head, calm as ever. His bandaged hand rested lightly on the window sill.
Easy, he thought.
A few presses of a button later, the station changed, volume balanced, and both of them glared at each other, fuming—but not at him.
Problem solved, he noted silently.
Then Mrs. Linden smiled at him.
"We have three daughters," she said. "You'll meet them soon."
Elior's gaze drifted outside for a moment.
Daughters, he thought. Great. More tiny humans judging me before I've had breakfast.
Inside, however, he turned his eyes toward them, amused despite himself.
Okay, he admitted silently, I'll tolerate this… for now.
He folded his hands in his lap, leaned back, and let the car glide through the night.
Quiet, calculated, and unbothered. For once, the chaos was somewhere else.
The ride continued in a calm that was almost suspicious, and Elior allowed himself a small, almost invisible smirk.
This might just be… interesting.
---
The car slowed, turning onto a quiet street lined with trees.
The house came into view.
Not enormous. Not intimidating.
But warm—lights glowed softly from every window, smoke curled from the chimney, and the front porch looked like it had been waiting just for someone to step onto it.
Elior noticed the little garden, the neatly trimmed hedges, the swing set tucked to the side.
Comfort, without pretense.
"Here we are," Mrs. Linden said, her voice gentle, eyes bright. "Welcome home, Elior."
"Careful," Mr. Linden added, opening the car door for him. "Watch your step."
Elior nodded, adjusting his cap and stepping out.
The gravel crunched under his sneakers.
He inhaled the scent of warm air and wood smoke, eyes scanning the house.
Just as he reached for the door, something hit him square on the shoulder.
He turned sharply.
A stone.
Small.
Thrown with precision.
A voice called from the garden. "Look! He's the boy now!"
Elior's eyebrows lifted. Tiny silhouettes appeared, two girls giggling, hiding behind the swing set.
Blonde hair, messy braids, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Huh, he thought. Looks like I have neighbors. And they're already judging me.
He crouched slightly, inspecting the stone.
Small. Harmless.
But symbolic.
I would have to deal with them, he mused silently. Oh, definitely.
Elior smirked faintly, tilting his head as he met their challenging gazes.
Well, he decided, if this is the welcome committee, I'm not going anywhere.
Mrs. Linden clapped her hands softly. "Come on now, Elior. Let's get you inside."
He glanced back at the girls, then up at the cozy, inviting house.
A small, dry smile tugged at his lips.
Looks like I'm officially home.