<h4>Chapter 68: The Red Envelope</h4>


    <strong><i>{Elira}</i></strong>


    ~**^**~


    I looked around.


    No one seemed to be paying attention. Some students were unlocking their lockers. Others were checking their timetables. A couple were scrolling through their phones.


    But none of them were looking at me.


    My heart beat faster as I stepped closer and pulled the envelope from the metal surface. It wasn’t taped—just wedged into the narrow frame.


    I flipped it over. There was no name. No initials. No address.


    I stared at it for a moment longer.


    <i>Who left this? And why?</i>


    I didn’t have the time—or the mental space—to peek inside the red envelope.


    My thoughts were already beginning to scatter as the hallway buzzed with movement and conversation. So, I tucked it carefully inside along with my backpack and ced everything inside my locker.


    Whatever it was could wait.


    I grabbed my textbook, notebook, pen, and phone, then locked the door and turned toward ss.


    By the time I stepped into my ssroom, the murmur of conversation dipped into soft whispers—low, sharp, and unmistakably directed at me.


    I felt them, those darting nces, those hushed sybles with names hidden behind cupped hands. But I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.


    I moved quietly to my desk and sat down, setting my notebook neatly in front of me.


    As long as they only whispered and did not attempt to surround me like on my first day. I would handle it.


    Then, as if summoned by my silent plea, a voice cut clean through the noise.


    "Good morning, ss."


    It was confident, familiar—and I froze.


    Immediately, my head snapped up and there was Lennon, standing tall in front of the whiteboard, dressed in his signature clean-casual style—blue jeans that fit him far too well and a sleek ck leather jacket.


    His dark hair looked freshlybed, a subtle shine catching the light from the windows. Every strand in ce, every inch of him effortless, powerful, and—well—utterly calm.


    Around me, my ssmates erupted in excited greetings.


    "Oh stars, it’s Professor Lennon today?"


    "Why is he so fine?"


    "I heard he was on thebat board! This is gonna be fun!"


    A ripple of energy ran through the room like someone had flipped a switch. The entire ss suddenly became brighter, louder, and no longer focused on me.


    I blinked, a little stunned. He hadn’t said a word about teaching this ss when we chattedst night.


    Was this intentional? Or a surprise even for him?


    Just then, Lennon picked up a stick of white chalk and wrote the title on the board with smooth, deliberate strokes:


    <strong><i>Combat Tactics & Pack Defense – Level I.</i></strong>


    Turning back to us, he leaned against the front desk casually. "Your instructor for today clocked in sick this morning," he said, voice smooth and loud enough tomand attention, "so I will be filling in for him."


    The response was near-deafening. A few girls pped. One boy whistled. Someone muttered something about this being their <i>’luckiest Thursday ever.’</i>


    I let out a small breath and rxed against my seat. So... that exined it. Ast-minute substitution. That’s why he hadn’t told me. It wasn’t nned.


    Still, I wasn’t sure how to feel seeing my ssmates practically drooling over him.


    I watched one girl adjust her cor and lean forward with her chin in her hand, batting hershes like she was auditioning for a romance drama.


    I rolled my eyes internally and returned my focus to Lennon.


    He began the lecture without dy, jumping straight into key tactics for low-wolf-count skirmishes and exining the difference between passive defense structures and aggressive deterrent formations.


    His style of teaching was engaging—fast-paced but clear, seasoned with dry humor and precise analogies.


    He even used the whiteboard like a strategist, drawing sharp angr diagrams of battlefieldyouts, assigning fake territory borders and defending positions with dots and arrows.


    "The instinct to charge is natural," he said, tapping the board with the chalk, "but what keeps a Pack alive is knowing when not to. Strategy beats strength when strengthcks patience."


    I caught myself actually enjoying the lesson. Despite the fatigue still clinging to my bones, I found myself scribbling down notes faster than I expected.


    By the time the ss ended, the whiteboard was covered in chalk lines and half of my ssmates looked ready to follow Lennon into an actual warzone.


    He pped his hands once. "That’s all for today. Don’t forget your practical next Monday—8 a.m. sharp."


    A few groans and excited murmurs followed.


    He grinned. "And bring your strength. Brute force. You will need it."


    Then his gaze swept across the room, subtle and slow—until itnded on me. His eyes held mine for just a breath longer than necessary.


    "And of course," he added smoothly, "only a select few will be lucky enough to serve as examples."


    I swallowed. That was for me. I knew it instantly.


    It was his way of saying I wouldn’t be called up in front of the ss. That he’d already made sure I wouldn’t be embarrassed again.


    The relief I felt was immediate, softening my shoulders and cooling the tension in my chest. Lennon saw me. And he understood—even when I didn’t say a word.


    Lennon stepped back from the desk, dismissing us with a nod, and as everyone began to pack up noisily around me, I quietly gathered my things, my heart a little steadier than when I first walked in.


    ---


    As soon as sses ended, I barely had time to put my phone on vibrate mode before a message popped in.


    I had a guess that it could be from Rennon, so I quickly opened it. And lo and behold, it was from him.


    <strong>Rennon:</strong> [<i>Hi, Elira! I brought lunch for you. If you don’t mind, we can eat together.]</i>


    A small smile tugged at my lips. I hadn’t forgotten about the appointment he mentioned yesterday. I typed back quickly:


    <strong>Me:</strong> [<i>Okay.</i>]


    His next message came just as fast.


    <strong>Rennon:</strong> [<i>Come to the Archive Room. Do you know where that is?]</i>


    I nced down at the smartwatch on my wrist and grinned.


    <strong>Me:</strong> [<i>Yes, I do. Remember,</i><i>I have this fancy thing on my wrist. I will find it.]</i>


    I could almost imagine him shaking his head with a faint smile. Tucking my phone away, I turned toward my locker.


    My fingers flew over the keypad, and as the door swung open, a bold ssh of red caught my eye.


    The envelope.


    It sat exactly where I had left it earlier, still sealed, still mysterious. My curiosity sparked again—but I didn’t have the time to dwell on it. Not now. Not with Rennon waiting.


    I pulled out the textbooks and notes I would need for my afternoon lecture and slid the envelope to the side, nestling it under the p of my file.


    Later. I promised myself. I’d read itter.


    Then I opened the group chat with my roommates and typed a quick message:


    <strong>Me:</strong> [<i>Hey, you guys, go ahead to lunch without me today. I have something important to handle.]</i>


    I hesitated, wondering if they would ask questions—but didn’t give myself a chance to overthink it. I hit send and shut my locker with a soft click.


    With a few taps on my smartwatch, I set my destination as <i>Archive Room</i>.


    The device responded instantly, disying a detailed map with a glowing arrow and a gentle buzz on my wrist.


    It showed the Archive Room was in another building—older, tucked away behind the East Wing.


    The watch scanned my location, then directed me with blinking arrows and a soft chime every time I reached a new turn.


    I started walking, footsteps light but purposeful. It wasn’t just about lunch anymore. I was genuinely curious—Rennon had sounded... oddly serious yesterday. Like whatever he had to show me mattered.


    A message alert vibrated through my phone again. I pulled it out and saw several notifications from the dorm group chat with my roommates.


    First was Cambria’s usual polite check-in:


    <strong>Cambria:</strong> [<i>Noted. See youter. Let us know if you need anything, Elira</i>.]


    Then Juniper:


    <strong>Juniper:</strong> [<i>Important? Sounds mysterious. We will save you a seat anyway, just in case you change your mind.]</i>


    Followed by Nari:


    <strong>Nari:</strong> [<i>Hope it’s not a secret date. Unless it is...]</i>


    I sighed, fighting back a smile.


    Even Tamryn dropped something rare into the chat:


    <strong>Tamryn:</strong> [<i>Enjoy your important thing.]</i>


    That one surprised me more than all the othersbined.


    I typed out a quick:


    <strong>Me:</strong> [<i>Thanks, I will. See you girlster.]</i>


    And slipped the phone back into my skirt pocket, letting out a sigh of relief.


    The air felt cooler around this side of campus—quieter too. A few tall trees lined the walkway, their leaves rustling as the breeze teased them gently.


    I followed the map as it led me around a narrow path behind the main tower, then finally, to an older stone building with wide windows and ivy climbing up one side.


    <strong><i>’Archive Room</i></strong><i>’</i> the small silver que beside the door read.


    I paused for a breath and then I stepped inside.