THE AIR HUNG THICK with the scent of damp grass and pine. Dew clung to the edge of every leaf, and somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed from the younger gifted running around the garden. I walked slowly along the stone path, tracing the cracks with the tip of my shoe, trying not to think too hard about anything. But of course, that never worked. The image of the old transmitter still lingered in my mind, half-buried in moss and vines, with its blinking red light pulsing like a heartbeat. I remembered how strange the signal had been, how we couldn't figure out what it was for. When we returned a few days later, it was gone. Just… gone.
At first, I told myself it might've rusted away or been taken by someone passing through. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became: someone had moved it deliberately. And if anyone would've done it quietly, efficiently… it would've been Ryan.
I paused by the fence, brushing my hand against the wooden rail. Ryan had been calm lately—too calm. Ever since the revelation and Harriet's incident, he'd carried himself like someone who already knew more than he was saying. Every time I'd tried to bring up what we found, he'd change the subject, redirect the conversation, or smile that tight, composed smile that said not now, Alice.
I wanted to ask him about the transmitter. About CYGNUS. About everything. But between his lessons, his late-night meetings with Dr. Crowe and Miss Byrd, and the never-ending responsibilities of keeping the home safe, I never had the chance.
So instead, I just kept walking.
The sunlight spilled softly through the canopy, dappling the path in gold. My thoughts were starting to drift when a shadow moved above me—a blur of dark feathers slicing through the air.
"Sebastian," I breathed, tilting my head just as he swooped down gracefully and landed on the nearby railing.
"Miss Alice," he greeted, voice low, his tone calm but carrying that familiar sharpness that always made him sound like he knew more than he let on.
A smile tugged at my lips. "It's been a while. Where have you been?"
"Not far," he said. Then his morphing happened in that same impossible blur — so quick that if you blinked, you'd think the air itself had played a trick on you. One heartbeat, Sebastian was perched on the branch above me, feathers ruffled by the wind, and eyes gleaming like dusk. The next, the air swirled around him, bending and folding in a way that looked almost alive.
The sound that followed was faint — a soft rustle, a flutter caught between feathers and breath — and then he was there, morphing. His wings folded inward, melting into arms cloaked with faint traces of plumage, like ghostly remnants of what he'd been seconds ago. Feathers rippled across his shoulders, merging with skin that caught the light like pale moonstone. The air around him seemed to hum, like it wasn't sure what to make of what it was seeing. And his head — his owl's head — remained, regal and still, the golden eyes unblinking. It should've been eerie. The first time I saw it, I remember stepping back, my pulse leaping to my throat. But by now, it wasn't fear that I felt. It was awe.
Sebastian's humanoid form was graceful as always. His cloak draped around him like a shadow, feathers fading into fabric, and when he spoke, his voice carried an echo — soft, layered, as if two tones existed at once.
"Better?" he asked, tilting his avian head slightly toward me.
I nodded, still caught between wonder and disbelief. "You'll never get used to making an entrance, will you?"
His beak curved in what I'd learned to recognize as a smirk. "Would you rather I stayed a bird?"
"I don't know," I said, smiling despite myself. "The feathers suit you either way."
He chuckled — or whatever the owl version of a chuckle was. A soft, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through the air.
Every time I saw him transform, it reminded me of something ancient. It wasn't magic, not in the childish sense. It was more like watching nature bend its own rules for a moment, just to remind me how little I understood the world I lived in.
"So where were you earlier?" I asked.
"Wandering," he said simply. "Farther than usual. Beyond the forest, across the ridge."
I raised an eyebrow. "That far? You've been busy."
He nodded, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "I needed to make sure the perimeter was clear. I've scouted for miles in every direction. And luckily, there are no traces of the Others. Not even movement."
That should've made me feel relieved, but instead, a small knot tightened in my stomach.
"No signs at all?" I asked. "Not even the faintest trace?"
"None," he said. "It's… quiet. Too quiet."
The way he said it made my skin prickle. Sebastian never exaggerated. If he said something felt off, it usually meant danger was nearby—or waiting. But another thought crossed my mind, sharper this time.
"Sebastian," I began carefully, "if you've been flying around the woods lately… you might've seen something else."
He frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"The transmitter," I said. "The one we found before. It's gone now. Did you see anyone take it?"
His expression shifted, eyes narrowing just slightly. "I may have," he said after a pause. "As a matter of fact, I did."
My heartbeat quickened. "Who?"
"I was flying overhead near dusk when I spotted two figures at the clearing," he said. "Ryan and Dr. Crowe. They weren't hiding—but they weren't being careless either. I made sure to keep high enough that they wouldn't notice me."
I felt my pulse thrum harder in my throat. "What were they doing?"
"Dr. Crowe was tinkering with the transmitter," Sebastian said, crossing his arms as he recalled. "He had his toolkit open. He was unscrewing the panel and inspecting the inner wires. Ryan, on the other hand, stood nearby, watching. From what I overheard, Crowe mentioned that it wasn't a normal transmitter. It wasn't just sending information—it was receiving it too. Taking signals from the area and sending them somewhere else. A receiver, maybe. Ryan put the pieces together quickly."
I listened, frozen, my mind racing to keep up.
"Ryan said that if it was active," Sebastian continued, "it meant the Others already knew this place existed. That they might've tracked it down."
My mouth went dry. "Did they destroy it?"
He nodded. "Ryan smashed the main module with a hammer. Crowe picked up the fragments, said he'd dispose of them properly. But there was something else—something they said after."
"What?"
Sebastian hesitated, his brow furrowing as if repeating the memory left a bad taste. "Ryan mentioned someone named Apollo. He said something like, 'If it's Apollo, he'll know by now where we are.' Crowe asked if he was certain, and Ryan said yes."
Apollo. The name hit me like cold water.
I blinked. "Wait—you're sure he said Apollo?"
"Yeah," Sebastian replied. "Does the name mean something to you?"
I hesitated. My throat felt tight. "It's Ryan's brother."
Sebastian's eyes widened slightly, the calm in his expression breaking. "His brother?"
I nodded slowly. "He's never told anyone much about him. Just that something happened. Something that tore them apart."
Sebastian's gaze lingered on me. "You think this Apollo has something to do with CYGNUS."
"I don't think," I said quietly. "I know."
He studied me for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Then what will you do?"
I looked past him, toward the distant outline of the path towards the halls—the windows glowing faintly gold under the morning light. "Ask him," I said. "I need to hear it from him this time."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "Be careful, Alice."
"I will."
He unfolded his wings again, the air shifting around us with a low whisper.
"And, Sebastian?" I said before he could take off.
"Yes?"
"Keep watching. If the Others are gone, good. But something tells me… they're not done."
He inclined his head. "Understood."
Then, with one powerful sweep, he launched into the sky—gone in seconds, leaving only the faint rustle of feathers behind.
I stood there for a while, thinking. Ryan and Dr. Crowe. The transmitter. Apollo. Piece by piece, everything was starting to connect, yet it felt like every answer only led to more questions. I needed to find Ryan—but before I could, a familiar voice called from the windowsill.
"Alice?"
I turned.
Eleanor sat by the wide ledge, sunlight pooling around her like a soft halo. A book rested open on her lap, though her eyes weren't on it—they were on me.
"Looking for someone?" she asked gently.
"Yes," I said, walking closer. "Do you know where the headmaster is?"
Her expression softened. "He's out with the younger ones, I think. Morning walks through the southern field."
"Ah." I paused, chewing on my bottom lip. "Do you… have a minute?"
"Of course." She closed the book and patted the spot beside her. I sat, folding my hands on my knees. For a moment, I wasn't sure how to start. The words sat heavy in my mouth.
"Eleanor," I said finally, "can I ask you something?"
"About what, dear?"
"About Apollo."
The air shifted instantly. Her smile faltered, just slightly.
"I don't think I'm the right person to—"
"Please," I interrupted softly. "I know you might not want to talk about it, but… I need to understand. Ryan won't tell me. Every time I ask, he shuts down. But if what Sebastian overheard is true, then this isn't just about the Others anymore."
Eleanor hesitated, her fingers curling over the edge of the book. The silence stretched until I almost regretted asking—then, finally, she exhaled.
"Apollo," she began quietly, "as we know was Ryan's brother. And yes, something happened between them. Something… that changed everything."
Her gaze shifted toward the window, distant, heavy with memory. "When they were young, they both believed in the same things—protection, peace, purpose. But grief changes people. Apollo was brilliant, but also proud. After losing someone he loved—someone both brothers cared about deeply—he grew bitter. Obsessed with the idea that gifted beings were the cause of suffering. He believed that humans were meant to hold power, not fear it. He founded CYGNUS," she continued softly. "Out of grief, bitterness, and… conviction. He gathered scientists, soldiers, anyone disillusioned enough to believe his cause. He thought if he could harness the power of the gifted, he could 'restore balance.' But it twisted him. What began as research turned into control. Control turned into cruelty."
I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "So Ryan's own brother…"
"Yes." Eleanor's voice trembled faintly. "Ryan tried to stop him. Tried to reach him. But Apollo had already crossed a line. He wasn't saving anyone anymore—he was building an army."
The room seemed to tilt.
"I can't imagine what that must've been like," I whispered.
Eleanor smiled sadly. "Neither could I. Ryan doesn't talk about it because to him, Apollo isn't just an enemy. He's a ghost of everything he used to believe in."
Outside, the wind picked up, brushing the trees into a low whisper. I looked toward the horizon, my chest tight. If Apollo really knew where they were now, then everything Ryan had built—the home, the safety, the fragile peace—it could all come crashing down. And deep inside, I knew something she hadn't said out loud: Ryan wasn't calm because he didn't care. He was calm because he was preparing. For the storm that was already on its way.
Outside us, I could hear laughter from the younger gifted. I could also hear Morgan chasing Augustus and Cornelius, and Lucy calling out for them not to go too far, with Hunter barking somewhere near the garden. Everything felt so ordinary that for a second, I almost forgot how heavy the truth sitting in my chest was.
Eleanor's voice then brought me back.
"In his own words," she said, her eyes downcast, "CYGNUS was meant to capture, experiment on, and extract the very genes that make the gifted who they are."
We were still sitting by the window, the air between us cold and still. I watched her fingers trace the edge of her book, not turning the page, not really seeing it.
"Ryan and I learned that years ago," she continued softly. "He managed to subdue one of them—an Other—long enough to get answers. It wasn't easy. They're… conditioned, hollowed out to follow orders. But that one still had fragments of memory left. Enough to piece together what CYGNUS truly is."
I swallowed hard. "So it's all real," I murmured. "The experiments. The abductions. Everything we found in that bunker."
Eleanor nodded. "All of it."
The silence that followed pressed against my chest like a weight. I wanted to speak, but the words caught somewhere between anger and disbelief.
Finally, she sighed. "Do you know why Apollo named it CYGNUS?"
I shook my head, eyes still on her.
"Apollo said it was symbolic," Eleanor said, her voice distant now, almost reverent—as if she were quoting something she'd once read. "CYGNUS, in Latin, means swan. The constellation represents purity, transcendence, transformation. But in his hands…" She paused, the corners of her mouth tightening. "In his hands, it became the opposite. He twisted it into something dark. A symbol of 'purification through destruction and control.'"
I felt my blood run cold.
"Purity," I echoed. "By destroying everything he deemed impure. The gifted."
"Exactly." Eleanor looked at me then, her gaze full of quiet sorrow. "He believes that by controlling or erasing the gifted, he's saving humanity."
I let out a shaky laugh—humorless, bitter. "Saving it from what? From people like me?"
Her silence said enough.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sound of the wind outside filled the gaps between our breaths. My thoughts tumbled back to every file we found, every name, every photograph of a child locked behind glass. But there was still one thing I didn't understand.
"Why?" I asked finally. "Why did he turn against Ryan? Against everyone like us?"
Eleanor hesitated. Her expression flickered. She clasped her hands in her lap before answering.
"You've heard Ryan mention an accident before, haven't you?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. He said something happened when he was young. He never said what."
"The accident was real," Eleanor said quietly. "And it was tragic."
Something in her tone made my stomach twist. The air between us grew thick, heavy. She looked straight at me then, her voice trembling just enough to betray the weight of it. "He killed both of their parents, and Apollo was there to witness everything."
For a heartbeat, the world stilled. My breath caught somewhere between disbelief and horror. "What?"
It came out smaller than I intended — thin, almost childlike. The word barely belonged to me.
Eleanor didn't look away. "He didn't mean to," she said softly, but it didn't make it hurt less.
The room felt colder all of a sudden. I could almost see it — the flash of uncontrolled power, the look on Ryan's face when he realized what he'd done. I didn't want to believe it. But the silence that followed was too real to deny.
"It wasn't intentional, Alice," she said quickly, her voice firm but trembling. "He was only young and naive. His powers were still unstable back then—too strong, too volatile. Their mother had given him a pendant meant to help him control it. But one night, something triggered him. No one knows what exactly. Fear, grief, anger—whatever it was, it caused his powers to spiral out of control."
I covered my mouth, the image searing into my mind.
Eleanor continued, "Apollo was there when it happened according to Ryan. He saw everything. And though Ryan tried to save them, it was too late. Their mother's pendant was all that survived the flames. For years, Apollo couldn't forgive him. He believed Ryan was a danger, not just to their family—but to the world."
"Does he still have it?" I asked. "The pendant?"
Eleanor nodded. "Yes. The same one he showed you before. That's their mother's. He retrieved it after years of searching. Apollo had taken it first—used it to experiment on gifted subjects, hoping to replicate its power to contain or transfer gifts. But Ryan found it again when he managed to fight off some of the enemies. He doesn't talk about it because…" She paused. "Because it's his reminder of both guilt and forgiveness. He did mention you before about the necklace, but that was just a part of it."
My throat tightened. "And Apollo never forgave him."
"No," Eleanor whispered. "That grief turned into hatred. Apollo saw gifted beings as dangerous and unstable. He blamed Ryan for their parents' death, and from that wound, he built CYGNUS. It became his way of taking control. Of making sure no one like his brother could ever hurt anyone again."
I felt my heart pounding, the truth settling like lead in my chest. "So this… all of this," I murmured, "was born out of a family's grief."
Eleanor nodded. "It's tragic, isn't it? Two brothers who once dreamed of protecting others—now standing on opposite sides of the same war."
Before I could answer, a sound came from behind us. A soft shift in the floorboards. We both turned. Ryan stood in the doorway alongside Doctor Crowe. For a moment, he said nothing. The light from the hallway cast long shadows across his face, softening the sadness in his eyes but not the exhaustion. He must've heard everything.
"Ryan," Eleanor began gently, "I didn't mean to—"
He raised a hand, stopping her. "It's alright, Eleanor." His gaze turned to me. "I suppose you deserve to know."
I stood slowly, unsure what to say. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," he said. His voice was calm—too calm. "And before you apologize, don't. I hid it because it's not something I enjoy revisiting."
He stepped into the room, and for a moment, the silence between us stretched taut.
"I didn't want you—or anyone here—to see me as the reason this war began," Ryan said quietly. "But I know that's not how truth works. The past has a way of catching up, no matter how deep you bury it."
I took a step forward. "The Others might already know where we are. If Apollo knows—"
"I'm aware," he said. His eyes flicked to the window, where the trees swayed against the light. "And I'll do whatever it takes to protect everyone here."
His tone was steady but carried a weight that made my chest ache. He turned back to me, expression softening. "You wonder why I left those files in the library, don't you?"
"You… meant for me to find them?"
He nodded. "Not everyone was ready to see the truth. But I knew someone would come along who was determined enough to look—and strong enough to bear it."
My heart stilled.
"You've grown, Alice," Ryan said gently. "More than you realize. The day will come when this home will need someone else to lead it—someone who can protect it as fiercely as I have. Maybe more."
The words hit me like a wave. "Ryan, I—"
He smiled faintly, a kind of sadness in it. "You have the heart for it. The strength. The empathy. Qualities that can't be taught."
Then, without warning, he reached out and placed a hand against my forehead. Warmth pulsed through me—bright, almost electric. It wasn't painful, but it felt like a surge of energy expanding beneath my skin. My breath caught.
"What… what was that?" I asked.
"Your gift," Ryan said softly, lowering his hand. "A little strength, borrowed from mine. It won't last forever, but it will make your powers more stable—amplified when you need them most. I trust you'll know when that moment comes."
I stared at him, speechless.
"You'll make a fine headmistress one day," he added, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
My throat tightened again. "You talk as if—"
"I'm not planning on going anywhere," he said with a quiet laugh. "But we both know peace is fragile. I want someone ready, just in case."
I looked out the window then. The children were still playing by the field. Augustus and Cornelius were chasing butterflies, Morgan sitting in the grass sketching while Lucy watched them fondly. Their laughter drifted faintly through the open air. For the first time, I realized how easily that peace could vanish.
"Peace," I whispered to myself, "isn't always something we can choose."
When I turned back, Ryan had already stepped out of the room, Eleanor and Doctor Crowe following him quietly, with Eleanor's gaze lingering on me for just a moment before she closed the door.
I stayed there for a while, trying to steady my breathing, trying to swallow the mix of gratitude and dread swirling inside me.
But the walls felt too small, the air too heavy. I needed space.
***
I didn't realize I'd been crying until the wind stung my cheeks. The air outside the home was cold. I walked without direction until the path curved toward the willow tree. Its silver-green leaves swayed in the wind, brushing against the ground like they were trying to comfort it. And maybe me, too.
I stopped beneath its shadow and pressed my palms against the trunk, closing my eyes. Everything Eleanor told me kept replaying in my mind — Ryan's guilt, Apollo's hatred, and the truth about CYGNUS. It all fit together now, like pieces of a puzzle I wished I never solved. The pendant, the secrecy, the calm in Ryan's voice when everything around us felt uncertain… he wasn't just protecting us. He was atoning.
A sound rustled behind me. I turned, wiping quickly at my eyes, but Riven was already there.
"Whit?" he said, voice low.
I tried to steady my breathing, but my throat ached. "You shouldn't sneak up like that."
He gave a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Didn't mean to. I saw you leave the house. You looked…" His words trailed off as he caught sight of my face. "Hey. What happened?"
"It's nothing," I lied, my voice catching halfway through.
Riven's brow furrowed. "You're a terrible liar, Whit."
I looked away, my hands trembling slightly. The leaves whispered above us, filling the silence I couldn't. "I just—" My voice cracked. "I don't know. Everything feels like it's slipping. We keep pretending we're safe here, but deep down, I think we all know we're not. And if something happens again—"
I didn't finish. My voice was trembling too much to keep steady. "I don't want what happened to my father to happen to anyone here," I whispered, my voice breaking before I could stop it. "He and Mom were killed by the Others."
Riven stepped closer. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me."
I did, reluctantly. His eyes met mine with a kind of steadiness that I didn't know I needed until that moment. He didn't say anything at first; he just reached out and pulled me into his arms. It was instinctive. I didn't fight it. The warmth of him made it harder to hold everything in. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the faint smell of his perfume.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
"I know," he said. "But fear doesn't mean you're weak, Alice."
"I just…" I swallowed hard. "I don't want to lose anyone again. I don't want this home to fall apart like everything else before it. Like mom and dad."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to see my face. "Then don't let it," he said. "You're stronger than you think. You've already held us together more times than you realize."
I shook my head. "That's not true."
"It is," Riven said firmly. "You don't see it because you're in the middle of it. But we do — all of us. Harriet, Dwight, even Ryan. You've become the one we look to when things go dark."
His words caught me off guard. My chest tightened again, but not from fear this time. "Riven…"
He smiled — small, lopsided, and warm. "You'll be the best leader, Whit. I know it. And when things get bad, I'll be there. Always."
The way he said it made something inside me ache and steady all at once. I searched his face for a trace of uncertainty, but there was none. Just quiet conviction. The kind that made me believe, if only for a second, that everything might be okay.
I exhaled shakily. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I might start believing you," I said softly.
He grinned faintly. "Good. You should."
I laughed then — barely a sound, but enough to break the weight in my chest.
Above us, the willow's branches shifted with the wind. For the first time in a long while, the world didn't feel so cruel. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring — or what new horrors Apollo might unleash — but standing there beneath the willow, Riven's arms still around me, I let myself believe in something I hadn't dared to hope for in weeks.
Maybe peace wasn't permanent. Maybe safety was a fragile illusion. But for this moment — just this one — I was safe.
And I wasn't alone.