Chapter 8 Supression

Elias POV

The hall was quiet once Ronan left, but the silence didn’t comfort me. It never did. Every creak of the wooden floor, every distant buzz of the academy’s night systems, reminded me that I was alone, that I had to rely on myself.

My chest tightened, not just from exertion, but from the lingering pull of him, the way Ronan’s gaze had pinned me, measured me, and yet… didn’t break me.

I shifted my stance, gripping the wooden sword with care, forcing my movements to stay controlled, even though every fiber of me wanted to explode, to throw strength around and see what would happen. My hand twitched.

My jaw ached from clenching. And beneath it all, the suppressor chip screamed. Painful, insistent, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I reminded myself of my mum.. The smell of rain on stone, her soft voice as she whispered instructions I barely understood at twelve.

The way she held me when I cried, the weight of her hands grounding me when the world went too loud. I could almost hear her telling me to breathe, to steady myself, to remember that control was more than muscle, more than instinct, that it was survival.

“Steady,” I whispered to myself. “Control.”

The first strike was more automated. My arm burned almost immediately. Another movement, another flash of pain from the chip buried under my skin, and my knees buckled slightly.

My breath hitched. I forced myself upright, forcing my movements to remain precise, deliberate. The chip pulsed again, and I felt a pure suppression. It wasn’t just physical. It was mental, emotional, digging into memories I tried to lock away, memories of mistakes, losses, and my mother.

I could feel it now. The pheromones, subtle but provocative, teasing instincts that I had spent years training to suppress. The close proximity of the sparring sword, the tension in my body, the imagined shadow of Ronan’s presence, it was enough to ignite that buried reflex, to make my muscles quiver with a desire I couldn’t acknowledge. My stomach twisted. My hands shook just enough that I had to bite my lip to steady them.

“No,” I muttered, letting the word reverberate in the empty hall. “Not now. Not… him.”

I pivoted, releasing the sword just enough to let myself stumble back, narrowly avoiding a strike I hadn’t even aimed at me. My body screamed with the effort of restraint. Pain lanced up my arm again as the chip pushed against my control, demanding release. I swallowed hard, tasting blood where my teeth had bitten the inside of my cheek.

Everything about me wanted to collapse. To let go. To scream. To throw myself against the floor and let the suppression end, let the chip win. But my mother’s voice, her memory, held me upright. “Control, Elias. Always control.” She had meant it literally, and in the moments of pain, it saved me.

I twisted, dodging another invisible opponent, feeling my body nearly give in. The door behind me creaked.

Shadows shifted in the moonlight spilling through the windows. And for a second, I imagined Ronan stepping back into the room. His presence. His eyes. The way he had watched me, restrained but aware. The pull hit me again. I faltered. My chest burned. My knees trembled.

I had to escape.

One hand on the doorframe, I leaned heavily, gasping for air, feeling every heartbeat thrum painfully against the chip’s interference.

My head spun with a mix of anger, fear, and something I refused to name. I could feel the pheromones lingering in the air, almost tempting me, teasing the very instincts I had trained to control. It was maddening, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

I thought of my mother again, her hands guiding mine when I couldn’t steady them, her gentle reprimand when I failed. If she were here, she would’ve known what to say, how to ground me. My beating slowed fractionally at the memory, but the chip’s pulse reminded me it wouldn’t be enough. I couldn’t falter. Not now.

A sharp jolt of pain lanced through my ribs, and I collapsed to the floor, my knees hitting hard against the polished wood. My breath hitched in a strangled gasp. The chip screamed, pushing against every ounce of restraint, every fraction of composure I had managed to maintain. My body trembled involuntarily. Every thought of control wavered.

And then I smelled a cedar , musk, warmth, and the faint, unmistakable trace of someone close. Not my mother at home. Not entirely. But the memory of her and the imagined presence of him, Ronan…twined with the pheromones in the room, almost igniting the instinctual response I had spent years suppressing.

My body wanted to move toward the source, to submit, to react. I ground my teeth again, shaking, forcing myself back, crawling to the wall with trembling arms.

The air felt heavier now. Every heartbeat pounded against the chip, which pulsed like a metronome of control. Pain, desire, memory, instinct, it all collided, threatening to unravel me. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I forced myself up, leaning against the wall. My hands pressed hard into the wood, fingertips bruising slightly from the pressure. I needed distance. Space to think. Space to breathe. Space to survive.

The hall seemed to stretch endlessly, shadows dark and silent. My legs shook as I took careful steps toward the nearest exit. Escape. Freedom. Any moment Ronan or worse, Kael might arrive, and I had to be gone, unseen.

I pushed the door open, the cold night air rushing over me. Relief and panic mingled, electrifying my senses.

The pheromone tension lifted slightly, replaced by the crisp scent of the academy’s stone exterior, moonlight reflecting off the walls. I staggered into the corridor, my muscles screaming from exertion and chip-induced suppression, but I moved. I ran, careful not to draw attention, careful not to stumble.

Somewhere behind me, faint but present, I imagined Ronan’s gaze. The memory of his piercing eyes, the calm authority, the soft fascination… it lingered, making my chest tighten in frustration and something dangerously close to longing. I shook my head violently. Not now. Not ever.

I had to survive this. Had to escape before he could intervene, before the pheromones, before the chip, or the memory of him, dragged me back.

Somewhere above, in the shadows of the observation deck, a glow blinked. Holo-screens blinked . A presence I couldn’t see clearly, but knew instinctively, watched.

Instructor Noir. His calm, calculating demeanor. The way he had always known things I hadn’t even spoken.

“So it’s true,” I imagined him murmuring, almost to himself, observing my collapse, my escape, my vulnerability. And I knew, without seeing him fully, that he understood more than I cared to admit.

He had seen the chip’s effect, the pheromones’ pull, the suppression I carried. He had seen everything.

I moved further into the night, shadows hiding me, pulse still racing, every step a battle against instinct and pain. I wasn’t free not truly, but for a moment, I had distance. And in that distance, I clung tomy mother’s voice, the memory of her hands, and the fragile tether of my own will.

For now.