Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: ELARA

The B Wing was packed. Students shoving, yelling, dropping textbooks. Roxanne took one look at the crowd and turned left. East stairwell. Empty. Quiet.

No one was there.

“See?” Roxanne said, starting down the steps. Her voice wasn’t sharp today. Just matter-of-fact. “Five minutes saved. You can use it to breathe before Professor Blackwell tries to murder you with supply curves.”

Eve walked on my other side, her tote bumping my hip. “She times everything,” she said to me, but loud enough for Roxanne to hear. “Including how long it takes me to get coffee. She once sent me a spreadsheet titled "Inefficient Caffeine Acquisition, A Case Study.”

“I was being helpful,” Roxanne said without turning around. “You spend eight minutes in line every day. That’s forty minutes a week. Two hundred hours by graduation.”

“And yet,” Eve said, grinning at me, “I’m still Student Body President. So maybe eight minutes of human interaction isn’t a waste.”

Roxanne huffed. Not quite a laugh. But her shoulders dropped half an inch. “The coffee is still burned.”

We hit the first floor. The east door let us out near the Commons Green, away from the worst of the crowd.

“Economics,” Roxanne said, checking her watch. “You have three minutes. Left side, remember? Professor Blackwell starts on the right. He won’t know your name until next week if you don’t give him a reason to.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Good.” She hesitated. Then reached into her bag and handed me a granola bar. Same plain wrapper as yesterday. “You didn’t eat breakfast. Again. If you pass out, I have to fill out paperwork. I hate paperwork.”

It wasn’t warm. But it wasn’t ice either. It was Roxanne.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Eat it,” she said. “Because I said so.”

Eve snorted. “She’s been practicing that one.”

“I have not,” Roxanne said, but she was already walking away. “Library. Third floor. Seven AM tomorrow. Don’t be late, Elara.”

She used my name. Not Venn. Not variable.

Eve watched her go, then slung her arm through mine. “Come on. I’ll walk you to Caldwell. I need to intimidate a freshman who thinks murals are ‘free expression’ and not ‘defacing school property.’"

“You wouldn’t,” I said.

“I absolutely would,” Eve said, but her eyes were kind. “But I’ll use my nice voice. I have range.”

Economics. Caldwell Hall 101. 9:00 AM.

Professor Blackwell locked the door at nine zero one. A boy in a rugby shirt got there at nine zero two.

“Read the syllabus, Mister Carter,” Professor Blackwell said without looking up. “It’s on page one.”

I sat on the left side. I was safe.

But my mind wasn’t on supply curves. It was on the east stairwell. On the way Roxanne had handed me that granola bar like it was a battle plan. On the way Eve had linked her arm through mine like it was normal.

On the way I’d gone twenty four hours without feeling like I was drowning.

Library Third Floor. 2:43 PM.

I’d camped out at the east windows like Roxanne said. Silent. Electrical outlets right where she promised. I was halfway through the Halliwell reading on the Treaty of Westphalia when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Unknown Number: East stairwell. After your last class. We need to talk. It’s about Virell.

My blood went cold.

I looked up. Roxanne was at the other end of the table, two laptops open, typing like the keys had personally offended her. Eve was next to her, feet tucked up in the chair, sketchbook open. She wasn’t drawing. She was watching me.

She saw my face.

She closed her sketchbook. Stood. Walked over.

“You okay?” she asked quietly. No president voice. Just Eve.

I turned the phone toward her.

She read the text. Her jaw tightened. Not scared. Pissed.

“Roxanne,” she said.

Roxanne looked up. Saw the phone. Saw my face. She was out of her chair in two seconds.

“Who sent that?” Roxanne asked. No accusation. Just data gathering.

“I don’t know,” I said. “The number’s blocked.”

Roxanne held out her hand. I gave her the phone. She read it once. Then again. Then she looked at Eve.

“Campus security?” Eve asked.

“Not yet,” Roxanne said. “We don’t know if it’s a threat or just… someone being stupid. If we report every weird text, we’ll be in the Dean’s office twice a week.”

She handed the phone back to me. “Don’t go. Not alone. Not without telling us.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I said. And I meant it.

“Good,” Roxanne said. She sat back down, but she didn’t open her laptop. “Because I’m not filling out a missing persons report. I hate paperwork.”

“I know,” I said. “You said.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Then you were listening.”

Eve sat on the edge of the table, looking between us. “Okay. New rule. No one meets mysterious strangers in stairwells. If Virell wants to talk, they can file a request with the Student Union. In triplicate.”

That got a real laugh out of me. Small. But real.

Roxanne didn’t laugh. But she did slide her open bag of pretzels toward me. “Eat. Your blood sugar is probably low. It affects decision-making.”

It was still strategy. But it was also something else.

Aldridge Hall. 11:32 PM.

My room was dark. My phone lit up on the desk.

Unknown Number: You’re not safe here, Your Highness. But you’re not alone.

I didn’t sleep.

Not because I was scared.

Because for the first time since I got to Altiora, I wasn’t sure if alone was the worst thing I could be.

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