The descent into the tunnel felt endless.
Cold metal rungs.
Dripping condensation.
A faint hum from pipes hidden in the walls.
Our footsteps echoed as if the entire Academy was holding its breath above us.
Horace leaned heavily into me—
his weight almost too much,
his breathing ragged,
his ribs protesting with every step.
But he never once let go of my hand.
Lucian climbed just beneath us, keeping his arm ready to catch Horace if he slipped.
Chandler supported Rowan, who was trembling so violently he could barely hold onto the ladder.
Rowan's breath came in sharp, broken bursts.
Every few seconds, Chandler murmured something soft against his temple.
"It's okay… I've got you."
"You're safe."
"I'm not letting go."
But Rowan kept gasping.
"It's the smell."
His voice shook.
"This place… I remember this place."
Chandler whispered urgently,
"Rowan—don't breathe too fast. You'll pass out."
Rowan clung to Chandler's sleeve like it was the only thing holding him to the world.
"I was brought through here," he whispered hoarsely.
"This tunnel… leads to the lower chambers.
This is where they took me after—after the evaluation."
His voice cracked.
Fresh tears blurred down his cheeks.
Chandler was quiet for a moment.
Then he reached up, cupping Rowan's cheek gently.
"Rowan. Look at me."
Rowan's breath hitched.
"You're not down there anymore," Chandler said softly.
"You're here. With me. With us.
And I swear—on everything I am—
no one will drag you back."
Rowan let out a weak, broken sound.
But he kept climbing.
We all did.
THE OLD TUNNEL
The shaft opened into a long, narrow passageway.
Old wiring.
Rusty pipes.
A faint hum of machinery in the distance.
Lucian landed first, scanning the darkness with a small emergency light.
"This tunnel predates the Academy," he said quietly.
"Hidden maintenance shaft. Most of the guards never come down here. Too unstable."
"Oh, great," Chandler muttered.
"So we're stuck in a death tunnel."
Lucian ignored him.
Horace stumbled when his feet hit the ground.
I caught him instantly.
He winced, gripping my shoulder.
"Elleanore…"
His voice was so faint.
I shifted to support more of his weight.
"I've got you."
His forehead pressed against the side of my head—
warm
feverish
breathing uneven.
"You shouldn't be doing this," he whispered.
"You shouldn't be carrying me.
You should be resting."
"You're bleeding everywhere," I said softly.
"I'm not letting you fall."
He let out a shaky exhale.
"Then I'll try not to."
Lucian approached, inspecting Horace's injuries.
"His stitches tore almost completely," Lucian muttered.
"He needs medical attention—now."
"We can't go back," Chandler said.
"And we can't go up."
Rowan clung to Chandler's sleeve, whispering,
"The machine… will follow the strongest scent trail. And that's—"
"Mine," I whispered.
Horace lifted his head slightly.
His eyes met mine—
dark, strained, but steady.
"We'll protect you."
"You need protecting more than I do."
He scoffed weakly.
"Not possible."
Lucian interrupted sharply:
"We're wasting time."
The tunnel hummed again—
a vibration traveling down the metal walls.
Rowan flinched violently.
Chandler pulled him closer.
"What is that?!" Chandler hissed.
Lucian's face went pale.
"The machine is scanning the lower floors."
My heart dropped.
"How long until it finds this tunnel?" I whispered.
Lucian checked the flickering emergency panel.
"…A few minutes."
Rowan whimpered.
Chandler swore.
Horace tensed against me, trying to push upright.
"Elleanore…
we need to move."
I steadied him.
"Then we move."
Lucian nodded and led us deeper into the tunnel.
But the farther we walked,
the colder it became.
The air grew thick.
Almost bitter.
And Rowan's breathing worsened.
ROWAN'S PAST
Halfway down the passage, Rowan's steps stuttered.
He pressed a hand against the wall, chest heaving.
Chandler turned immediately.
"Rowan—hey—stop. Stop. Breathe."
Rowan shook his head violently.
"I know this scent," he whispered, eyes wide.
"The metal… the chemicals… I remember—"
His voice cracked.
"—this is where they kept us before the testing."
Chandler froze.
"Us…?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
Rowan clearly hadn't meant to say that out loud.
He swallowed, shoulders shaking.
"I wasn't the only one," Rowan whispered.
"There were others.
Other kids.
All Omegas.
All with… scent issues."
Chandler's expression shattered.
"Elleanore didn't know," Rowan continued.
"None of us did.
It wasn't an accident that she was flagged.
It never is."
Lucian turned sharply.
"Rowan—those files were sealed. How do you—"
Rowan's eyes filled with terror and memory.
"I saw them."
We all stopped.
Rowan whispered:
"When they took me down the hall…
I saw the room names.
I saw the other kids.
I saw the list.
The list of… Prime candidates."
The world seemed to freeze.
Lucian's throat tightened.
"Rowan…" Lucian whispered.
"Say it."
Rowan's voice was barely audible:
"Elliot's name was on it.
And…
so was Elleanore's."
My breath died in my chest.
Chandler's hand trembled against Rowan's back.
Horace's fingers tightened painfully around mine.
Lucian closed his eyes for a brief second.
Then Rowan added—
"I saw a note underneath."
He swallowed hard.
"'Subject E: Non-compliant.'
'Subject E.M.: Prototype failure.'"
I blinked.
"E.M…?"
Rowan looked at me.
"Elleanore…
that wasn't just about Elliot."
My heart stopped.
Lucian stared.
Horace's scent spiked, sharp and protective.
Rowan whispered:
"'E.M.' stands for the model code.
The Prime model."
Horace stiffened completely.
"Elleanore," Lucian said softly,
"They built the Sigma line from something.
From someone.
Someone with an extraordinary scent—
someone whose evolution wasn't stable."
Chandler's breath caught.
Rowan clung to his sleeve.
"Elleanore…" Rowan whispered.
"You're not the first."
HORACE STARTS TO COLLAPSE
Horace tried to straighten, breathing hard.
His knees buckled.
I grabbed him quickly.
"Horace—!"
He swayed into me, eyes unfocused.
His voice was low, slurred:
"It's… fine.
I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
Lucian cut in sharply.
"He's losing blood too fast. He won't last long without treatment."
Horace grit his teeth.
"I'm not stopping."
"Yes, you are," I said firmly.
He blinked—surprised at the tone.
I guided him down gently to sit on one of the tunnel steps.
His head fell onto my shoulder, breath hot and uneven.
"Elleanore," he murmured.
"Yes?"
"You smell… scared."
I swallowed hard.
"I'm trying not to be."
He lifted a weak hand to my cheek.
"You're allowed to be scared.
But don't be scared of yourself, okay?"
His voice was so soft
so sincere
it hurt.
Chandler whispered to Rowan:
"Let me check his wounds. Hold onto me."
Rowan clung quietly.
Lucian crouched beside Horace.
"Let me see the stitches."
Horace snarled weakly,
"Don't touch me."
Lucian's voice softened.
"I'm trying to save your life.
Shut up and let me help."
Horace groaned but didn't resist when I lifted his shirt.
The bandages were thick with fresh blood.
Lucian inhaled sharply.
"He won't make it through the night like this."
My chest tightened.
"No—
please—no—"
Horace shot me a weak smile.
"Hey," he muttered.
"I've survived worse."
"When?" I demanded.
"When I fell out of a tree at age nine," he said faintly.
"Pretty traumatic."
Chandler snorted.
Rowan blinked through his tears.
Lucian rolled his eyes.
"He's delirious."
But Horace kept staring at me.
"Elleanore," he whispered.
"Don't go back into that room.
Promise me."
I squeezed his hand.
"I don't break promises."
THE REMNANT SCENT
A sudden metallic vibration echoed through the tunnel.
Rowan gasped.
Chandler tensed.
Lucian shot to his feet.
"That's not just scanning," he said.
"It's tracking."
A cold pulse traveled through the tunnel air.
I inhaled sharply.
That scent.
The one from the observation room.
The one like mine.
The one not mine.
It drifted through the tunnel like a ghost.
Warm.
Sharper than mine.
Unsettling.
Rowan covered his ears.
"I know that smell—
I know it—
it was near the prototype rooms—"
Chandler grabbed him quickly.
"Rowan—stay with me—"
Horace stiffened weakly.
"Elleanore—
back behind me—"
I shook my head.
"No.
Everyone behind me."
They stared.
"Elleanore—" Lucian began.
But I stepped forward.
Toward the dark.
Toward the scent.
Toward the thing waiting for me.
And whispered:
"I'm not running anymore."
The First to Evolve
The tunnel air thickened around us.
Cold.
Metallic.
Heavy.
The scent drifted forward first—
the one that wasn't mine
but mirrored mine enough to tangle with my instincts.
It pulled at something deep inside my chest—
a thread that shouldn't exist
a call I never wanted to answer.
Horace reached weakly for my sleeve.
"Elleanore—
stop—
don't go toward it—"
I shook my head.
"I have to."
"No—"
His voice cracked with panic and helpless rage.
"I can't lose you—
I won't—"
"You're not losing me."
But the truth?
I didn't know who—or what—was waiting in the dark.
Lucian stepped beside me, shoulders tense, baton ready.
Chandler positioned himself protectively in front of Rowan, who was shaking violently, eyes wide with memory.
Rowan's breath hitched.
"I know that smell.
I know it—
I've smelled it before—"
"When?" Chandler whispered.
Rowan clutched his shirt tightly.
"When I was taken for testing."
His voice trembled violently.
"There was someone in the room before me.
Someone in the chamber next door.
They never let us see him.
But the scent—
the scent was the same."
My stomach twisted.
Chandler pulled him tighter.
"Rowan… breathe."
But Rowan shook his head desperately.
"No—
you don't understand—
that scent isn't from an Omega.
It isn't from a Beta.
It isn't alpha either.
It's—
it's wrong."
Lucian's eyes sharpened.
"Wrong how?"
Rowan swallowed hard, trembling.
"Like it wasn't finished."
The tunnel lights flickered—
and something stepped out of the dark.
THE FIGURE
A silhouette emerged.
Slowly.
Fluidly.
Almost human—
but not.
A tall figure with a lean build, long limbs, and clothing torn and charred in places.
Dark hair hung over its eyes.
Skin pale under the flickering lights.
It walked oddly—
not limping
not stable
as if relearning how its body worked.
And that scent—
identical to mine
but older
rougher
distorted.
My breath caught.
"Elliot…?" I whispered.
The figure's head snapped up.
Eyes—
not blue like my twin's—
but sharp, metallic gray
with faint glowing rings around the pupils.
Not Elliot.
Not human.
Its voice cracked as if unused:
"…Elleanore."
My blood ran cold.
Horace tried to push up.
"ELLEANORE—BACK AWAY—NOW—!!"
Lucian raised his baton.
Chandler stepped between Rowan and the figure fully.
Rowan clung to his back, teeth chattering.
Lucian whispered,
"Elleanore…
don't move."
But the figure took one slow step forward.
Its voice—
low, resonant, distorted—
echoed through the tunnel.
"You're finally awake."
My throat closed.
"I've…
never met you."
It tilted its head.
Almost curious.
"You took too long."
Horace snarled,
"She doesn't know you.
And she doesn't WANT to.
Get away from her—"
The thing didn't look at him.
Not once.
It only looked at me.
"Your scent,"
it murmured,
"is complete."
I stepped back.
Lucian moved with me.
"Complete?" I echoed.
"Perfected."
Its eyes flickered.
Something in its chest glowed faintly.
"You are the final model."
My pulse stopped altogether.
Horace went white with fury.
"What the hell does that mean?!"
Lucian's face changed—
like a puzzle piece he never wanted to find had just clicked into place.
"Elleanore…"
he whispered,
"This is the Prime Subject."
Chandler froze.
Rowan burst into a sob.
"No—no—no—
I knew it—
I smelled this—
it was him—
he was the one they called Prototype—"
The figure blinked slowly, staring at Rowan.
"You were afraid of me."
Rowan trembled.
"You're not human," he whispered.
"You're not—
you're not ANYTHING—"
The figure's expression didn't shift.
Not hurt.
Not anger.
Nothing.
"I am the first.
You are the last."
It lifted its hand—
palm facing me.
And every cell in my body reacted—
panic
fear
heat
instinct
revulsion
recognition.
I swallowed hard.
"What do you want?"
Its voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"To finish what they started."
My breath hitched.
"What does that mean—?"
It took another step.
"Your evolution."
Horace shoved against Lucian's grip, trying to rise.
"No—
NO—
STAY AWAY FROM HER—"
The figure finally turned toward him.
Its eyes narrowed.
And for a brief moment—
just a flash—
I saw something in its expression.
Hate.
Pure, instinctive hate.
It spoke one word:
"Alpha."
Horace growled.
"Yeah. And I'm going to tear you apart if you touch her."
The figure tilted its head.
"You're defective.
Too weak to imprint her correctly."
Horace froze.
His scent flared dangerously.
"Say that again."
"She is not for you."
Horace lunged—
But his ribs gave out.
He collapsed to one knee, gasping in pain.
I caught him quickly.
"Horace—stop—stop—"
But he wasn't listening.
His instincts were.
His heart was.
"Elleanore," he rasped,
"don't go near him—don't let him—"
"I won't."
But the figure kept speaking.
"You cling to her.
Like the others."
I blinked.
"The others?"
Lucian went still.
"What others?!"
The Prime Subject spoke calmly.
"There have been many who tried to bond with the Prime.
None survived."
Horace's blood ran cold.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Rowan screamed.
"NO—STOP—STOP TALKING—!"
He covered his ears.
"I remember—those… those boys—
those girls—
they kept disappearing—
I thought they ran away—
I thought—"
Chandler grabbed his hands, forcing him to look.
"Rowan—hey—hey—look at me—
you're safe—
I've got you."
But Rowan sobbed harder.
"That thing—
that THING killed them—
and they HID it!"
Chandler pulled him tightly against his chest.
Lucian inhaled sharply.
"Elleanore," he said, voice low and urgent,
"This thing sees you as its match.
You are the one it was designed to bond with."
I shook my head violently.
"No.
No—it's wrong.
I'm not—"
"You are prime,"
the figure said.
"You were grown for this."
"NO," I snapped,
"I was BORN—"
Its voice sharpened.
"No.
You were chosen."
The words hit like a slap.
My knees shook.
Horace forced himself upright, snarling through the pain.
"You don't get to define her.
You don't get to claim her.
I don't care WHAT you are—
you don't get her."
The Prime Subject tilted its head again.
Almost amused.
"She already belongs to me."
Horace roared.
"I'LL KILL YOU!"
He lunged—
Lucian grabbed him mid-leap.
"HORACE—STOP—YOU'LL DIE!"
But Horace kept struggling.
"LET ME GO—
LET ME GET TO HIM—
ELLEANORE—RUN—!!"
"I'm not leaving you!"
The Prime Subject stepped closer.
"She will come to me.
All primes do.
It is instinct."
"No," I whispered.
"YES," it corrected.
Lucian raised the baton.
Chandler positioned Rowan behind him.
Horace shook in my arms, eyes burning.
My voice trembled.
"What happened to Elliot?"
Everyone froze.
The Prime Subject blinked slowly.
Then—
"He failed."
My heart cracked.
"Failed?" I whispered.
"What does that mean?"
The figure turned fully toward me.
"His evolution stopped.
Yours continues."
I staggered backward.
Lucian whispered, horrified:
"Elleanore…
you're the next stage."
The Prime Subject extended a hand toward me again.
"Come."
My instincts twisted violently.
A part of me—
a small buried animal part—
tugged toward that voice.
Like it recognized something in him.
In its scent.
In its presence.
But I clenched my fists.
"No."
Its eyes narrowed.
"Come."
"I SAID NO."
My scent spiked—
bright
sharp
cutting through the tunnel.
The figure froze.
Rowan gasped.
Lucian stepped back.
Chandler whispered,
"Holy hell—"
Horace's grip tightened painfully around my fingers.
"Elleanore…"
He whispered like he was afraid to breathe.
"Do it again."
"No," the figure hissed.
But my scent pulsed again—
and the Prime Subject recoiled.
Lucian's eyes widened.
"Elleanore…
your scent—
it's overpowering him."
Horace's breath caught.
"You're stronger."
The figure shook its head slowly, voice trembling with fury.
"Impossible.
Prime does not submit."
I lifted my chin.
"Then stop acting like I owe you anything."
The tunnel lights flickered.
And the Prime Subject—
for the first time—
took a step back.
Horace whispered,
"That's right…
listen to her."
The figure's voice glitched.
"You… are not stable…"
I exhaled shakily.
"I'm more stable than you'll ever be."
Silence.
Then—
in a broken whisper:
"…Elleanore… you were supposed to be with me."
My heart stuttered.
"But you're not me."
My voice cracked.
"And I'm not yours."
The figure went still.
Then—
for the first time—
its expression broke.
Anger.
Loss.
Confusion.
"Then I will make you."
Before I could react—
it vanished into the dark.
Gone.
No footsteps.
No echo.
Just the lingering scent.
Rowan collapsed into Chandler's arms, sobbing.
Lucian cursed and slammed a fist into the wall.
Horace sagged into me.
And I—
I stood trembling in the middle of the tunnel, staring at the darkness where the thing with my scent had disappeared.
Whispering one small, terrified truth:
"…He wasn't the first one."