KAI: Lacey! Okay, so, we didn’t win the baku battles, but thanks for making my last year at Profectus hella exciting. Catch ya when you’re back.

River doesn’t leave me a message, but instead sends me a bunch of videos of him running around, performing silly tricks with his frog baku, Lizard. He’s letting me know he cares, but in his own unique way. My heart swells.

They’re still my friends. I know there are going to be a lot of questions left to answer, and I’m going to need their help if I’m going to survive the upcoming scrutiny at school. Not only did I mess up the baku battles, but I’ve spent the last month in the hospital. Way to keep a low profile…

I throw on my school uniform after brushing my teeth and running a comb through my hair. I’ve given up attempting to make myself look any more presentable than that—everyone knows what I look like: my face has been emblazoned on the video screens in the arena, sweat dripping off my brow. But it still gives me a thrill to wear the Profectus Academy logo on my blazer. And going back there feels, in a way, like going home. Profectus is the key to fulfilling my dream of becoming a companioneer. The state-of-the-art classrooms are ten times better equipped than at my old school; the professors are all Moncha employees imparting their knowledge; I can take classes in companioneering and coding and product design alongside normal ones like math and English and history and French. Almost every new companioneer hired at Moncha is a graduate of Profectus. Students from all corners of the globe vie for a place there.

And here I am, wearing the uniform.

“Mom?” I shout from my room. Then I turn to Slick. “Slick, can you get a juice ready for me?” Everything in our Moncha-branded kitchen connects to our bakus—he could even make me some toast if I asked for it. But I’m not hungry just yet.

There’s no answer from Mom—she must be getting ready in her room. I walk into the kitchen and grab my juice, prepared with no pulp (just how I like it in the morning—Slick is good) and take a sip. Then I frown. Normally I can hear Mom bustling around in her bedroom, but it’s so quiet, I could hear a pin drop.

“Mom?” I rap my knuckles against her bedroom door. No answer again. I push it open, but it’s empty.

“Slick? Send a message to Mom asking if she wants me to meet her outside.” Maybe she popped out for a minute.

>>I’ve just had back her automated reply. She’s at work, but she’ll get back to you as soon as she’s on a break.

At work? Already?

That doesn’t make any sense.

Slick vibrates his iridescent wings.