CHAPTER 103: ZENON LIKES MY COMPANY?

{Elira}

~**^**~

I closed the yearbook, its leather cover warm from my hands, and carried it to Zenon’s desk.

He looked up briefly from his laptop, eyes calm and unreadable. "Done?"

"Yes," I said, setting it down gently. "But just for today."

A faint flicker passed over his face, almost like he had more to say. But instead, he just nodded. "Study hard."

I tilted my head slightly. That... wasn’t what he had been about to say. I could feel it — the way his lips had parted, the hesitation. But Zenon was Zenon. If he didn’t want to speak, no one could make him.

"Thank you," I murmured, stepping back.

He didn’t answer. He just lowered his gaze back to the screen.

I left the office quietly, my footsteps soft against the polished marble of the administrative building.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the glass walls, painting gold lines across the floor as I made my way outside.

On the walk back to the dorms, my thoughts slipped to my wolf.

I closed my eyes briefly and reached inward, the way Cambria had once described in passing—like you were pressing your palm against an unseen door.

Something stirred.

It wasn’t a voice, or even a clear sensation. More like... a soft whirl. A faint spiral of energy I could barely feel, but it was there.

My lips curled into a smile before I realized it.

"Heh... are you there?"

I waited for a few minutes, but was met with silence.

Still, I didn’t feel disappointment. That tiny flicker was enough. Enough to know that she existed. That she was close.

Soon, I’d meet her — really meet her. I’d bond with her, ask the questions that had been burning in my mind for long.

I felt... hopeful.

It was a strange kind of certainty — the kind that made my chest light and my steps surer. My unfortunate era was ending. I didn’t know the exact process, but I knew.

Inwardly, I whispered a prayer to the Moon Goddess. "Whatever this is, please... keep it going."

---

The next morning, the air was crisp, scented faintly with dew and fresh-cut grass. My roommates and I were halfway down to the cafeteria when my phone buzzed.

I lifted it to my face and blinked and saw a message from Rennon.

Rennon: [Hi, Elira. How are you doing this morning? Come to the Archive Room for your access card.]

I typed back a quick reply, short but polite.

Before I could lower my phone, it buzzed again, this time from the group chat.

Lennon: [Hey, Elira. Remember to text us if you need anything.]

A small smile tugged at my lips. I sent back a smiling emoji and a short acknowledgement.

I wasn’t expecting Zenon to message me, so I turned off my screen after that.

Soon, we reached the cafeteria, the hum of chatter and the savoury aroma of breakfast greeting us instantly.

The food counters gleamed under the warm lights, trays lined with golden fried chicken, plump sausages, soft chicken wraps, and chilled glasses of pineapple juice that caught the morning light in pale amber hues.

We filled our plates, the weight of the food warm and satisfying in my hands, and found a table near the window where sunlight streamed in.

---

As soon as my classes for the day ended, I grabbed my backpack from my locker and made my way straight to the Archive Room.

Finally arriving, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Only Rennon was there, leaning casually against the desk, a folder open in front of him. His eyes lifted as soon as he heard me.

"Good afternoon, Professor Rennon," I said, walking in and sliding my backpack off my shoulder to set it on the counter.

A warm smile curved his lips, the kind that made his sharp, polished appearance seem less intimidating.

"Elira," he greeted, his tone light. "Right on time."

He reached into the folder and pulled out a small plastic card with my name printed neatly beneath ESA’s crest. "Here’s your access card."

"Thank you." I took it, feeling the slight weight of it in my palm, and smiled.

"What time should I come in every day?" I asked, already thinking about how to fit this around my class schedule.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and easy. "You don’t need to come in every day. Three times a week is more than enough. During lunch break works best. And don’t worry about eating — staff can have food at their desks."

So that’s why the "No food in Archive Room" rule didn’t seem to apply to him. I gave a small nod, amused at the unspoken hierarchy here.

He went on, "On the days you volunteer, you will also need to come here for an hour right after your last class."

"That’s fine by me," I said without hesitation.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if assessing whether I meant it, then he gave a slight nod. "You won’t be alone. The Archive has two staff members. You will just be helping to keep things organized."

I tilted my head. "Do you come in every day?"

"No," he said simply, shaking his head.

The answer made something sink in my chest. I exhaled quietly, wishing he had said yes.

"I guess I will pick Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays then," I said after a moment, trying to mask the faint disappointment with a light tone.

He nodded approvingly. "With that card, you can come in anytime, even if no staff are here."

I slowly nodded.

Initially, I had wanted to pick Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays for my volunteer days, but because I didn’t want to start any of my weekdays with stress and end it the same, I rescheduled.

The tour began almost immediately. Rennon walked me through the layout, pointing to tall, climate-controlled cabinets filled with bound records, then to the logbook and the sleek computer system beside it.

"This is where you record entries — both in writing and digitally. Cleaning isn’t your job; maintenance handles that. Your focus is keeping the catalogue easy to navigate."

We moved between shelves, his calm voice explaining the categories. My fingers trailed lightly over the spines of neatly labelled books and files as I memorised their arrangement.

This wasn’t my first time looking through the archive room, so at a point, I made Rennon return to his desk.

A few minutes later, I stopped by the Yearbook shelf. My eyes casually skimmed the top row—and froze.

1987.

1988.

1989.

The 1988 yearbook was back.

I blinked hard, just to be sure, then grabbed it with both hands and turned on my heel. "Professor Rennon!"

He looked up from his desk as I jogged over.

"How—how did you find it?" I asked, holding it like it was made of gold.

A small, knowing smile touched his mouth. "Let’s just say persistence pays off."

I narrowed my eyes slightly, sensing there was more to it. "That’s not all, is it?"

He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying my curiosity. "Your cousin, Regina, had a hand in it. She convinced the Student Council assistant to take it."

I stared, the yearbook still clutched to my chest. "Why?"

"That," he said, "is the question."

I shook my head slowly, deciding right then not to waste my energy on her. Regina’s schemes could spiral into madness if you let them take up too much space in your mind.

I set the 1988 yearbook down on Rennon’s desk, still smiling at the sight of it finally back where it belonged.

"Well," I said lightly, "I guess this means I won’t need to bother going to Zenon’s office anymore to look through your family’s copy."

Rennon glanced up from where he was jotting something in the logbook. "I think you should still go," he said, tone easy but deliberate. "At least a few times a week."

That caught me off guard. "Why?" I asked, brows knitting. "The yearbook’s right here now."

He let out a slow, almost reluctant sigh, then looked at me with a softened expression. "Because Zenon likes your company."

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then rapidly, like my lashes were trying to swat away the absurdity.

Zenon? The cold, unreadable man who could probably win medals for awkward silences?

"He... likes my company?" I repeated, my voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and an awkward laugh.

Rennon’s smile curved just enough to feel like it was hiding something. "He wouldn’t have suggested you leave the yearbook in his office and come by whenever you wanted if he didn’t have a reason."

I stared at him, searching his face for any sign this was a joke. "Are you sure you’re not mistaken?"

That earned me a quiet, almost knowing smile. "Think about it, Elira. Lennon and I both have our own offices. If Zenon didn’t want you around, he could have told you to keep the yearbook in my office... or Lennon’s. But he didn’t."

I hesitated, chewing lightly on the inside of my cheek. When he put it that way, it... sort of made sense...