The campus buzzed with tired energy. Cadets rolled their bags down concrete paths, calling to each other, exchanging hurried goodbyes. Instructors lingered near transport checklists, trying not to look as relieved as they felt.
Kael sat alone.
He was perched on the edge of a stone planter near the main courtyard—old, square, carved with ornamental spirals and filled with still water and drifting lily pads. The chill from the stone bled through his uniform.
His slate buzzed.
Hey, kid. Got bad news—got pulled back for a reroute. Can’t make it to pick you up. I’m really sorry. You’ll have to stick around the dorms this week. We’ll figure something out soon, alright?
—Uncle
Kael stared at the message for a while.
Then turned off the screen and set it beside him.
Daniel had left earlier that morning—his dad honking twice and shouting about missing breakfast at some roadside dive. Emma was gone before sunrise, just a quick wave from across the quad before disappearing with her ever-moving family.
He told them he’d be fine.
He wasn’t.
Across the lot, he heard laughter.
Annabelle came jogging into view, and then broke into a full run. She slammed into her dad, who lifted her off the ground with a dramatic grunt.
“Oof! Okay, who replaced my kid with a sack of bricks?”
“You said you weren’t going to embarrass me this year,” Annabelle muttered, trying not to smile.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Right, sorry. That was supposed to be internal monologue.”
He set her down and ruffled her hair. She rolled her eyes, but she was still grinning.
Kael looked away.
He hadn't meant to watch. But something about that moment—the ease, the way Annabelle laughed without holding back—made the cold bite a little deeper.
He stood up, ready to walk back inside.
“Kael?”
He turned. Annabelle was already halfway to him.
“Hey,” she said, slowing to a stop. “You're not... going home?”
Kael shook his head. “Nope. Deployment stuff. My uncle couldn’t make it.”
Her face dropped for a beat.
Before she could respond, her dad called out.
“Is that Kael? Kael Veyl?”
He marched over like they were old friends, arms wide. “Now who let you sit out here all sad and mysterious-looking? You break up with the moon or something?”
Kael blinked. “No, sir. Just stuck here for the break.”
“Stuck? Not on my watch.” Harlin turned to Annabelle. “Did you know he was being abandoned to cafeteria doom and echoing dorm hallways?”
Annabelle gave Kael a glance. “He didn’t exactly broadcast it.”
“Kid needs a new PR team,” Harlin said. “Hang tight. I’m going to go strong-arm the admin. Should take five, maybe seven minutes tops.”
He marched off without waiting for a reply.
Kael looked at Annabelle.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I do,” she said. “Also, you look like you were about two minutes away from talking to a flower about your feelings.”
Kael let out a breath. Almost a laugh.
Ten minutes later, Harlin returned, triumphant.
“And that, my friend, is how you charm a permissions officer with nothing but optimism and a coffee bribe. Your uncle said it was fine. Actually thanked me. So either he trusts me completely or he's desperate. I’ll take both.”
Kael raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Grab your stuff. Annie gave up shotgun for you.”
“Temporarily,” Annabelle said. “I expect music control in exchange.”
Kael climbed in. The seat was cracked but comfortable, the car smelling like coffee, gum wrappers, and old air freshener.
Harlin cranked the ignition. The engine made a sound like a wheezing animal before settling.
“You better like terrible music and snacks with questionable expiration dates,” Harlin said. “Otherwise this is going to be the longest week of your life.”
Kael glanced at Annabelle in the rearview.
She was looking out the window, tapping her fingers lightly on the glass. But she caught his eye and gave the smallest nod.
As they rolled out of the academy gates, Kael leaned into the seat.
For the first time in days, it didn’t feel like something was pressing down on his chest.
For the first time in days, he felt okay.