Charis
Then Marcus stepped closer, his brows wrinkling with concern.
"Hey, are you alright?" he asked gently. "Is there a problem? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
I managed to shake my head, not trusting my voice if I spoke.
"Are you sure?" Marcus pressed, the lines on his forehead deepening with worry. "You seem really shaken up. Are you a new student? Transfer maybe? This place can be pretty overwhelming at first. If sothing is wrong, you can tell ."
Again, I shook my head, finally finding enough control to speak. "I’m fine," I managed, my voice coming out softer and more feminine than Eamon’s had ever been. "Just... finding my way around."
"Fine?" he repeated softly, like he didn’t believe . His gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer, studying . Then he sighed, stepping back. "Alright. ...take care, okay? Don’t push yourself."
I nodded stiffly.
"Also, if you need any help, I’m Marcus Webb, and I’m the Student President." He smiled warmly; it was the sa genuine expression I rembered from countless interactions as Eamon. "What’s your na?"
"Charis," I whispered, then cleared my throat and repeated it with more confidence. "Charis Greye Knox."
His eyes widened slightly at the na—probably recognising the prominent pack lineage—but he didn’t show any sign of connecting to his dead friend.
"You’re Alpha Silas Greye’s daughter? The one who was missing?" he asked.
I smiled and nodded.
"Wow!" he chuckled. "I didn’t know you’d been found. Your father raised a lot of ruckus looking for you. I’m glad you’re okay now, and it’s nice to et you finally, Charis. Welco to the madhouse." He gestured around at the dormitory corridor.
"Fair warning—the room assignnts this year are completely insane. They’re mixing everyone regardless of gender or pack status. It’s going to be chaos."
"I heard," I said, grateful that my voice was steadying. "Change can be... difficult."
"That’s one way to put it," Marcus laughed. "Anyway, I should let you get settled. But seriously, if you need anything—directions, advice about which professors to avoid, whatever—ask around for . I’m happy to help."
He headed toward the elevator, and I stood there watching him go, my heart still racing. When the elevator doors closed behind him, I collapsed against the wall, gasping silently and finally allowing myself to breathe.
That had been too close. If Marcus—who had known Eamon intimately—had looked at for even a few more seconds, he might have started putting pieces together. I would need to be more careful, more aware of who might be around corners or in common areas.
I walked faster down the corridor, hoping not to run into anyone else who might recognise sothing familiar about . The room numbers counted down as I passed: 215, 213, 211, 209...
Finally, I reached room 207.
I stood outside the door for a mont, gathering my courage. Whatever was waiting for on the other side, I was ready. I had to be prepared. Too much depended on my ability to maintain this new identity and execute Isolde’s plan.
I was about to ring the bell when I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Voices drifted out from inside—male voices, familiar in a way that made my chest tighten with emotion I’d thought I’d buried.
Pushing the door open slowly, I stepped inside and imdiately stumbled backwards in amazent.
They were all there—all three of them.
Kael stood near the window, his dark hair catching the afternoon light as he surveyed the spacious room. Slater was examining the couches in the sitting area, testing all four of them by sitting on each. Rhett leaned against the wall near the door, his arms crossed and his expression thoughtful.
They were talking, their voices carrying the easy familiarity of long friendship, and for a mont I was transported back to all those evenings we’d spent together as Eamon.
I gripped the doorfra, trying to breathe through my mouth.
"This place is massive," Slater was saying, bouncing slightly on the mattress. "Four separate bedrooms, a common area, a full kitchen, and two bathrooms. It’s more like a luxury apartnt than a dorm room."
"The accommodations aren’t what concern ," Rhett replied with suspicion I rembered so well. "I don’t believe for a second that the system randomly selected the three of us for the sa room assignnt."
Kael turned from the window, nodding in agreent. "Soone wanted us together."
"But why?" Slater asked, standing up from the couch. "What would be the point?"
"Control," Rhett said imdiately. "Keep us close, keep us monitored. If we’re planning anything related to our investigation, it’s easier to watch us when we’re all in one place."
"Or," Kael suggested quietly, "soone thinks we need each other. That we work better as a unit than separately."
Slater laughed, but he wasn’t entirely happy. "Well, they might as well add Eamon to complete everything. Then we’d really be back where we started."
The casual ntion of my forr identity made feel strange. I gripped the doorfra tighter, overwheld by the complex emotions surging through —grief for the boy they still mourned, guilt for the deception I’d perpetrated, and a desperate longing to tell them the truth.
That’s when Slater suddenly turned toward the door.
Our eyes t across the room, and I watched as his face went completely ashen. His mouth fell open slightly, and his entire body went rigid with shock.
I stood there staring at him, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but let him see —really see —for the first ti since that terrible night I’d been arrested.
Rhett and Kael noticed Slater’s reaction imdiately. They turned to him with concern, following his gaze toward the doorway where I stood frozen.
"Slater, what’s wrong?" Rhett asked urgently. "What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a—"
"Slater?" Kael stepped closer to his friend, worry evident in his voice. "What is it? What’s wrong?"
Slater lifted his hand with agonising slowness, his finger trembling as he pointed directly at . When he spoke, his voice was a whisper, shaky with disbelief.
"Charis."
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