Another pause.

“But she doesn’t repel me either.”

Shockwaves everywhere.

“That counts.” One of the instructors said sharply, before anyone could argue. “Neutrality is a form of acceptance.”

Baron didn’t look at her.

But the damage was already done.

“Group 21 now includes the scentless.” the instructor confirmed. “Cadet Elyan Froste will be under the Ortega line.”

"Evening assessment bouts will be early today! Assemble!"

And just like that — just like that — Elowyn belonged somewhere.

Or so it was written.

But the sneer that followed from Azpen made her chest twist.

As they all began moving apart to exit the hall, Azpen strutted past her, his hand slapping the back of her head just light enough to look like nothing happened — but hard enough to sting.

“Try walking straighter next time,” he muttered under his breath. “And stop drinking all those damn purifying herbs. You reek like a lying corpse.”

He walked off laughing.

Elowyn blinked fast. Swallowed harder.

She followed the rest of Group 21.

Head high.

Even if it killed her.

Because this wasn’t about scent anymore.

This was about survival.

The sun had barely begun to fall when the twenty-one groups were spread out across the Outer Field once again — this time, for the Evening Assessment Bouts.

Elowyn stood at the edge of Group 21, trying to breathe through the raw ache in her legs. She was getting weaker.

“Pair up." The new instructor commanded.

There was five of them on the high podium.

“Test your reflexes. Show what your scent claims mean in combat. Seniors aren't meant to be here but for the sake of the first day, they'll watch.”

Elowyn was suddenly shoved forward. Her opponent was a newbie male — tall, sharp-shouldered, eager to prove a point.

It wasn’t a fight.

It was a storm.

She was hit. Tossed. Spun. Slapped.

Her knees scraped stone. Her shoulder thudded against the ground. A small whimper escaped her before she could trap it.

Silence bubbled around.

“She’s not even trying.” someone muttered.

Baron Ortega’s gaze lifted from his place, calm yet dark.

Elowyn stumbled up again.

Her hands trembled. Her eyes glistened.

Then, her opponent shoved her down one last time.

“Enough!” a voice barked.

The bout ended. But the damage didn’t.

Baron stared at her — not with pity. Not with anger.

But with something in between.

Why did seeing her hurt make his wolf rise?

He scowled and looked away, disgusted with himself. Disgusted with the stupid prince.

Elyan Froste was nothing.

So why did he feel like a stone in his chest?

"Cut. Breathe."

Ariya sat quietly by the window of the marital chambers, the sun reflecting pale and thin across the floor.

The locks clicked open from outside, her husband entered, the door slamming behind him.

“You’re still dressed?” His voice was laced with annoyance.

She said nothing. She just stared ahead.

“Answer me!" Sergius barked, enraged.

He grabbed her arm — not with care. His grip bruised. He pulled her up.

“I’m your husband, Ariya. You must support me in this. Alpha Haspan Cosmoses will always find that girl. You don't want to piss him..”

She pulled back, slowly.

“I’m tired.” she whispered.

He scoffed, stepping closer. “Tired? You’ve done nothing but breathe air I provide and defy me. You put me in trouble. You'll pay!”

He yanked the chair from beneath her. She didn’t fall, but it shook her.

“You will learn....” He said coldly, “....to obey. And to be silent.”

Then he walked out. He locked the door.

The silence that followed was worse than his voice.

Ariya picked up the fallen chair. Her hands trembled.

But her eyes?

Cold. Furious. Awake.

Elowyn didn’t rise this time.

Her opponent had flung her to the side hard enough that the edge of the stone arena met her rib. She curled into herself, chest heaving. Bile rising.

The whispers faded into ringing.

Until a hand grabbed her arm.

Not harsh. Not gentle either.

Firm. Commanding.

Baron Ortega.

His face was unreadable. His eyes like frost.

Without a word, he stooped and lifted her. From the back of her casual vest.

Gasps rippled through the cadets.

“Whoa—”

“Is he carrying him—”

“Isn’t that the scentless—”

Elowyn’s breath caught. She stared at the ground, dazed.

But Baron didn’t look down. His jaw was tight. His steps — swift, precise.

He set her down gently against one of the stone columns at the edge of the field, then stepped back immediately.

“Someone else will replace him.” he muttered.

She tried to speak.

“Save it.” he snapped, still not looking at her. “You want to survive here? Stop fighting like an underfed stick. Shame.”

The others laughed.

Then he turned.

Walked away.

Left her there.

But not before every single person had seen what he’d done.

Not before Elowyn realized....

She had made him feel something.

And in this academy, that was both dangerous and rare.