Chapter 28-The Assessment

Odett’s POV

  She studied me as if the assessment had been designed for her enjoyment. Her knife moved through dinner with unnecessary force.

  “Your confidence in me is touching,” I muttered with dry appreciation.

  “Perhaps we can begin with a goal that does not involve public unconsciousness.”

  I moved the bread basket before Aunt Jess could demonstrate at the table. Uncle Orian covered his smile with his cup.

  “Passing while conscious is the goal,” Aunt Jess assured me with cheerful brutality.

  Mom warned Jess not to turn exam preparation into an excuse for attempted murder. Dad remained quiet until everyone finished eating.

  Joshy and I followed him to the private office afterward. The investigation maps had been covered, the sealed files were locked away, and only two thin folders waited on the smaller worktable. Uncle Orian joined us carrying a blank ledger and closed the door behind him.

  “Preparing for this assessment changes what I am willing to place in front of you,” Dad explained.

  “You have both shown that you can separate facts from assumptions, which earns you a small increase in responsibility, not open access.”

  He rested one hand on the folders without opening them. Joshy and I waited instead of reaching for the files.

  Dad was offering us a narrow task, and I understood how much trust it cost him. I looked at the two folders, then at the locked cabinet behind him. He had decided exactly where the boundary lay.

  “What are we allowed to see, and what are we expected to produce from it?” Joshy asked with careful interest.

  He kept his hands away from the folders while Dad considered him. Dad’s attention rested briefly on his empty hands.

  Dad opened the first folder and showed us pages with names, locations, species, and descriptions removed.

  “You will receive redacted request records from three joint teams.”

  “Compare what each team requested, when it was answered, and whether the response matched the request.”

  “You will not identify suspects, explain evidence, or contact anyone involved,” he instructed with deliberate precision.

  I read the first page twice before touching it. The record contained dates, categories, and response codes without explaining what the requested materials showed. One team had requested original protection logs and received copied summaries, while another had asked for resident travel records and received a list without signatures.

  “Do we record whether the response was complete or only whether it matched the request?” I asked.

  “A response can answer every line and still provide something different.”

  The questions had sounded similar until I looked at the copied summaries. Dad glanced toward the blank ledger before answering.

  “Record both: exact match, partial match, substitute provided, delayed, or unanswered.”

  “If the category is unclear, mark it for review instead of choosing the closest answer,” Dad instructed with quiet approval.

  He slid the blank ledger toward me and uncovered the second folder. I wrote the categories across the first page.

  The categories were familiar from our Academy exercises, but these dates belonged to real people. Joshy read the requests aloud while I entered the responses. Then we changed places and checked each other’s work. Uncle Orian reviewed our first five entries before stepping back.

  One request stopped us near the middle of the second folder. A joint team had asked for the original gate ledger covering the three nights before an unnamed site stopped answering messages. The territory sent a typed copy of the entries but did not include the verification marks requested in the same letter.

  “Partial match.”

  “They received the entries but not the marks that would confirm the copy came from the original ledger,” Joshy decided with restrained uncertainty.

  He traced the request date without touching the redacted section. I checked the category instructions again.

  “Substitute provided.”

  “They asked for the original and received a new document containing its information.”

  “Without those marks, we can’t verify it, but we need the original before calling the information incomplete,” I argued.

  I looked toward Dad instead of changing Joshy’s entry. Dad asked us to defend both categories.

  Dad made us explain each classification, then told us to mark the entry for review. An investigator would decide whether the copy could be used. Our disagreement went into the administrative note, where it belonged, instead of becoming an accusation.

  “This is why you are receiving records in small amounts,” Dad said with restrained pride in his voice.

  “You noticed the difference without claiming the copy was false.”

  “Learning where a conclusion must stop is more important than reaching one quickly.”

  He closed the second folder after we finished the page. The soft click sounded more final than I wanted.

  We completed seventeen entries before Dad ended the session. The redacted pages named no attackers or missing residents and told me nothing about my nightmares. They did show how a late response, a substitute document, or an unverifiable copy could slow an investigation.

  “Will we receive more tomorrow?” I asked with carefully controlled hope.

  “The assessment schedule gives us two study periods after classes, but I can adjust them if you need this finished.”

  I closed the ledger and left it on Dad’s side of the table. His expression told me the offer had not helped.

  “Your Academy work comes first,” Dad replied without hesitation.

  “You may help again when your assignments are complete and when I have appropriate records.”

  “The investigation will not become an excuse to neglect the life you are preparing to lead.”

  He locked the folders in the cabinet and handed our notes to Uncle Orian. Nothing about his expression invited negotiation.

  I was disappointed, but Dad had let us see exactly as much as we could responsibly handle. If I pushed for the locked files, I would make it harder for him to trust me with the next folder.

  Joshy walked with me toward the family library, where our marked-up pack proposal waited beside three assessment guides. The castle had quieted, but warm light still shone beneath the doors to Dad’s office. Somewhere beyond those doors, adults examined evidence we had no reason to see.

  “Do you think he chose those records because they resemble the assessment, or did preparing for it make him believe we could handle them?” Joshy asked.

  He placed the border-law guide beside our proposal and opened to verified copies. The answer mattered less than the trust behind it.

  “Probably both,” I answered.

  “Either way, I am not giving him a reason to close the door again.”

  I sat across from Joshy and reached for the council revisions. He nodded and opened the next study guide.

  We worked until Mom threatened to confiscate every book in the library. The second-term assessment was three weeks away, so there was plenty I could study. Dad’s folders were another matter. They stayed locked in his office, and I had to leave those questions with him, however much I wanted to follow him in.