Sometimes it was good to be the commander’s daughter. Today was one of those days. I’d run home in the dark, dripping wet and freezing. I’d never felt more alone in my entire life. I don’t know why I’d been surprised by Elliot’s flat-out refusal to help, but somehow his words had still cut. Slipping back into my dark house, I’d found myself wandering into my mom’s office. I probably should have changed first; it would be hard explaining to anyone who found me there why I was soaked. But after seeing that Cocoon, the risk felt far away and unreal, like it belonged to someone else’s life and not my own. Everything about the last few hours felt unreal, and instead of blinding panic, I felt oddly numb and detached. Hopeless, I realized. I felt hopeless, and it was a sensation I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before. At least, not at this gut-deep level.

My wet clothes clung to my goose-bumped skin, and I leaned over and flipped the switch to light the gas fireplace. It gave a low grumble and click and then lit, the flames instantly warming my skin a few degrees. Sitting down at my mom’s desk, I stared at the flickering flames and let my brain churn over everything that had happened. Now what? Elliot had his final test tomorrow, and then he’d move up and be gone.

More for something to do with my hands than because I was really interested, I started organizing the papers on Mom’s desk. Most of the nitty-gritty details that went into running the Academy were just plain boring, payroll and bills, the new outline for the Butterfly detection prototypes, but every now and then there was something interesting, a simulation Recap transcript or a discipline form. My brain was still chewing over Elliot’s “sounds like a you problem” comment when I realized that his name wasn’t just in my head, it was on the memo in my hand. Jackpot.