The night my brother disappeared didn't come with warnings. No thunder, no shouting, no slammed doors. Just a strange quiet that made our house feel different, like someone had lowered the volume on the whole world.
It wasn't peaceful quiet. It was the kind that makes you pause and wonder if you forgot something important.
I noticed it while I was on the couch, pretending to study. My math notes were open in front of me, but none of the numbers made sense anymore. I kept glancing at the clock. The longer the silence stretched, the heavier it felt.
At some point, I realized the cicadas outside had stopped buzzing. Even the wind had settled. It made me sit up straighter without thinking.
That was when I noticed Elliot standing near the front door.
He was already dressed in his Academy uniform—dark blazer, pressed shirt, polished shoes—the whole formal look he usually hated. His duffel bag sat neatly on the floor beside him.
For a moment, I didn't say anything. He looked like someone getting ready for a long trip, or someone about to do something he hadn't fully accepted.
"Why are you dressed like that?" I finally asked, closing my notebook. "It's almost eleven."
He glanced at me, then looked back at the door before answering. "I'm going back to the Academy."
"Tonight? Why?"
"It's not for classes."
Something inside my stomach tightened. Elliot didn't usually talk like that—short answers, no jokes, no teasing. He always had something sarcastic or dramatic to say, even in serious moments. But tonight he looked… older. And tired.
I stood and walked toward him, trying to read his face. "Okay. Then what is it for?"
He didn't look at me right away. He took a slow breath, the kind people take when they're about to say something they don't want to.
"Elleanore," he said, "I need you to listen carefully."
That alone scared me. Elliot only used that tone when something was seriously wrong.
He moved away from the door and came closer, stopping right in front of me. His hands found my shoulders gently, almost like he was afraid I might fall over.
"There are things happening at the Academy that students aren't supposed to know," he said. "Things I wasn't supposed to see."
"What kind of things?"
He shook his head. "If I tell you, you'll be dragged into it too. I don't want that."
I frowned. "I'm already dragged in. You're scaring me."
"I'm trying not to," he said, but his voice cracked a little. "I can't give details. I just know I have to go back before someone else gets hurt."
My heart skipped. "What do you mean, someone else?"
He looked down, like he was deciding what to say and what to keep to himself. "Elleanore… I can't explain everything tonight. But you know the Academy. You know their rules. Their hierarchy. Their obsession with Alphas and status and keeping everything perfect on the outside."
I nodded slowly.
"And you know," he continued, "that scholarship students like me don't get second chances."
That was true. The Academy treated scholarship Alphas like charity cases who should be grateful for every scrap. Elliot never complained about it, but I knew he felt the pressure.
Still… coming back in the middle of the night? That wasn't normal. Nothing about tonight was.
"Why didn't you tell Mom?" I asked.
"Because she'll panic and try to stop me."
"That means you shouldn't go."
His jaw tightened. "I don't have a choice."
I stepped closer. "Elliot, look at me."
He did.
"We can figure this out," I said. "Together. You don't have to run off alone."
His expression softened for a second, and I almost thought he would stay. But then he exhaled, long and slow.
"If something happens to me," he said quietly, "I need you to take my place."
I froze.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"No." I shook my head fast. "No, Elliot. This is insane. I can't go to an Alpha-only academy. That's illegal. That's dangerous. And I'm—"
"Omega," he murmured. "I know."
"Then how can you ask me to do that?"
He sighed and reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out a small silver vial. Frost clung to it like condensation on a cold drink.
"What is that?" I asked.
"A scent suppressor. A strong one." He placed it gently into my hand. "It'll mask everything. Long enough for you to get through the scent checks."
My brain couldn't keep up. Everything felt too fast and too unreal.
"If you don't show up at induction," he explained, "the Academy will charge Mom the full penalty. She'll lose the house. She'll lose everything."
"But—"
"Elleanore," he said again, softer now. "If something happens, I don't want Mom paying the price."
"Then don't let something happen," I whispered.
He smiled sadly. "I wish I could promise that."
I felt tears sting my eyes. "Elliot, please… don't leave like this."
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. His heartbeat thudded against my cheek—steady but fast. It scared me. Elliot wasn't supposed to be scared.
"I'll be back soon," he whispered into my hair. "I swear."
But he didn't sound sure. Not even a little.
He squeezed me one last time and pulled away.
I should've stopped him.
I should've grabbed his duffel.
I should've screamed or cried or done anything except stand there frozen.
But I didn't.
I watched my brother walk out the door.
It closed behind him with a soft click.
And that was it.
That was the moment everything changed.
When I woke up the next morning, the house was too quiet again. Except this time, it felt empty instead of tense.
Elliot's bedroom door was open.
I walked in slowly.
His uniform jacket hung off the back of his chair. His sheets were messy, like he'd been sleeping and got up too quickly. His phone lay on the floor, screen shattered down the middle.
That wasn't normal. Elliot never went anywhere without his phone.
"Elliot?" I called out.
No answer.
I searched the kitchen, the porch, the yard.
Nothing.
I told myself he left early. That he went straight to the Academy. That the shattered phone was an accident.
I told myself lies because the truth was too heavy to face yet.
Three days passed.
No calls.
No messages.
No sign he was alive.
Mom assumed he was already at the Academy preparing for induction. She didn't see the broken phone. She didn't know he didn't take his uniform jacket or his favorite sneakers. She didn't know any of the things I found in his room that made my stomach twist.
But I knew.
By the end of the week, the letter arrived.
A large envelope with the Academy's crest pressed into the wax.
My hands shook as I opened it.
ATTENDANCE CONFIRMATION NOTICE
Elliot Jan Fonze: MARKED PRESENT
Induction Date: Mandatory
Underneath, in smaller print:
Absence will result in scholarship termination and penalty charges.
I read it twice. Three times. Five.
It didn't make sense.
If Elliot was "marked present," why hadn't he come home? Why didn't he call? Why was his phone still here?
Unless…
Unless the Academy wanted it to look like he was there.
Unless they covered something up.
Unless Elliot never made it to the gates at all.
My chest tightened, and my breath came too fast. I pressed the silver vial in my pocket so hard it dug into my palm.
Whatever Elliot had discovered—whatever rule or secret he stumbled into—he didn't walk away from it.
He asked me to be brave.
He asked me to take his place.
He asked me to protect what he couldn't.
That night, sitting alone in his empty room, I understood something quietly, painfully, completely:
If I didn't go to induction in his name…
Nobody would.
And the Academy would bury the truth with him.
I looked at his uniform jacket.
Then at myself in his mirror.
And for the first time, I let the thought settle fully into me:
I might be the only person who can find out what happened to him.
I swallowed hard, feeling my heart beat against my ribs.
"Okay," I whispered to the empty room.
It sounded like a promise.
It sounded like surrender.
It sounded like the beginning of something I wasn't ready for.
"I'll go."
I didn't sleep that night. I tried. I lay down, closed my eyes, counted slowly, breathed in and out like those videos online tried to teach—but my mind didn't slow down once.
Every time I blinked, I saw Elliot standing by the door again.
Every time I turned, I felt the weight of the Academy letter pressing against my ribs.
By morning, my head felt stuffed with fog.
I still went to school.
It was easier than staying home alone with Elliot's jacket and his shattered phone. At least at school, there were people around me. Noise. Movement. Something to distract me from the hollow feeling in my chest.
But the moment I walked through the gates, I realized something else: grief makes everything look out of place.
People laughed too loudly.
Teachers walked too fast.
Classmates gave me normal greetings that felt wrong.
And then there were the whispers.
"Elleanore looks tired."
"Did she and Oliver fight?"
"Julieta's been with him all morning."
"I heard she gave up her scholarship for her."
I kept walking. My hands were cold despite the warm air.
Rumors had always followed me, but today they crawled closer, sticking to my skin.
I reached my locker and tried to breathe normally, but I knew I wasn't hiding it well. My fingers trembled every time I touched something. My breath kept catching before it left my chest.
That was when I heard Oliver.
"Elleanore."
He said my name like he was stepping on it carefully.
I didn't look up at first. I kept pretending to organize my books. But he moved closer, enough that I felt the shift of air beside me.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
I shut my locker slowly. "About what?"
He hesitated. That alone was unusual for him. Oliver was the kind of Alpha who always knew what he wanted to say, even when he was wrong.
"About yesterday," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."
I let out a small breath. "But you did."
He winced a little, like he wasn't expecting such a direct answer.
"El, I was trying to help—"
"Help who?" I asked. "Me or Julieta?"
His jaw tightened. "She needs support."
"I need support too."
"You'll be fine," he said quickly. "You always are."
That… hurt. More than I thought it would. As if he'd decided somewhere along the way that my feelings didn't matter because I didn't cry loudly enough.
I stepped back. "Oliver, please. I don't want to do this right now."
He reached out as if to touch my arm. "Just listen—"
"I am listening," I said. "I just don't agree with you."
For a second, he looked genuinely lost. Then something stubborn settled into his expression.
"You're being unfair," he said. "You know giving the scholarship to Julieta would help her more than keeping it helps you."
"I earned that scholarship."
"You can get another one."
"You don't know that."
"You're smart. You always do well."
"That doesn't mean it's guaranteed," I said quietly. "And it's not your place to decide what's good for me."
His shoulders tensed. "I'm not deciding for you."
"You kind of are."
The silence that followed was sharp.
Then he said the words that sealed everything:
"Don't be selfish, El."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
The hallway tile felt unsteady under my feet.
I stared at him, trying to understand how he could say something so awful with such calm conviction.
"Selfish?" I repeated. My voice came out thin. "For wanting to keep my own future?"
"That's not what I meant."
"It's exactly what you meant."
His face twisted, uncomfortable with hearing the truth out loud.
That should've been the end of the conversation, but something in him refused to let go. He stepped closer again, lowering his voice like he wanted to sound gentle.
"El, you know I care about you."
"But not enough," I said softly.
He didn't respond.
He didn't deny it either.
And that told me everything.
I started walking away.
"Elleanore," he called again, more desperate this time. "Wait—"
But someone else's voice cut in.
"Hey."
It came from behind Oliver—low, rough, steady.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Chandler Monteverde leaned against the railing not far behind us, hands in his pockets, looking like he'd been watching the whole time.
The wind shifted slightly, carrying his scent—warm, smoky, something grounding. It hit me with a strange wave of relief that I wasn't prepared for.
Oliver turned stiffly. "What do you want?"
Chandler didn't answer him. He walked toward me instead.
Slow steps. Confident. Controlled.
He stopped when he reached me, not too close, not touching me, but close enough that I felt seen in a way Oliver had never managed.
"You good?" Chandler asked. His voice was calm, but the tension under it was obvious.
I swallowed. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
That simple sentence made my throat tighten. No one else had noticed. Not even Oliver.
Oliver scowled. "This isn't your business."
Chandler finally glanced at him. His eyes were sharp, cool, almost bored. "Yeah? Then stop making it mine."
Oliver stepped forward. "You're looking for trouble."
"No," Chandler said, straightening slightly. "But you're giving me a reason."
The air around them thickened. Alphas and their posture, their pride, their pheromones—it was like watching two storms edge toward each other.
"Back off, Monteverde," Oliver snapped.
Chandler took one slow step forward. "How about you stop talking to her like she owes you something?"
Oliver's jaw flexed. "I'm not doing that."
"You are."
For once, Oliver didn't have a comeback.
I felt stuck between them—pulled in by old familiarity on one side, pulled out by unexpected protection on the other.
"Chandler," I said softly, "it's fine. Really."
He looked at me then. Really looked. Long enough that I had to look away first.
"It's not fine," he said quietly. "You don't deserve to be talked to like that."
Oliver's eyes widened. "You don't even know her."
Chandler didn't break eye contact with me when he replied, "I know enough."
And something warm bloomed under my ribs in a way I didn't understand.
I stepped back. "Both of you… please stop."
They both turned to me.
"I don't want a scene," I said. "I don't want a fight."
Oliver's mouth opened as if he wanted to apologize again, but I shook my head.
"I'm going home," I said. "I can't do this today."
I didn't wait for either of them to follow. I walked straight out of the school grounds with my hands clenched in my pockets.
But I could feel their eyes on my back—Oliver's confused and desperate, Chandler's protective and sharp.
The house was quiet when I stepped inside.
Mom wasn't home. Elliot wasn't home. The air felt cold despite the afternoon sun pouring through the windows.
I walked into Elliot's room again. I don't know why. Maybe part of me hoped something would have changed. Maybe I hoped he'd reappear magically, telling me everything was a misunderstanding.
But the room stayed the same.
The bed was still unmade.
The shattered phone still lay on the floor.
His jacket still hung where he left it.
And the Academy letter sat on my desk.
Waiting.
Demanding.
I stared at it for a long time before picking it up again. My hands shook slightly. The words were the same, but they hit harder now.
Elliot Jan Fonze has been marked PRESENT.
A lie.
Mandatory induction.
A threat.
Penalties for absence.
A trap.
I sank onto Elliot's bed, my fingers gripping the edge so tightly it hurt.
I didn't want to be brave.
I didn't want to pretend.
I didn't want to walk into the Academy alone.
But the truth was simple and cruel:
Elliot wasn't coming back.
And someone had to take his place.
Otherwise, the Academy would bury whatever happened to him—and bury us along with it.
I looked up at the mirror across the room.
My reflection stared back: soft features, long black hair, tired eyes. An Omega girl who didn't fit into the world she was about to enter.
But behind my reflection, I could almost see Elliot standing there instead—straighter posture, sharper eyes, the confidence I didn't share.
We were mirrors once.
Maybe we still could be.
I wiped my face slowly, letting the truth settle like dust around me.
Then I whispered the words that felt heavier than the letter itself:
"I'll go."
My voice shook.
"I'll be you."
I closed my eyes.
"For you, Elliot." And in the still, quiet room, it felt like a promise the walls would remember.