Chapter 30-Set to Fail

Odett’s POV

  “That is common when students design the community they hope to lead instead of the one that will inconvenience them,” our instructor said with a measured assessment after we returned to our seats.

  “How many revisions did you find?” Cassian asked curiously while glancing toward my notes.

  “Enough to make setting the original proposal on fire seem efficient,” I muttered with tired irritation.

  “Fire would create an emergency, which would give you another chance to test the new restrictions,” Nolan pointed out with unhelpful amusement as he leaned over from the next table.

  Joshy covered his mouth, but his shoulders moved with a laugh. I kicked the leg of his chair before our instructor assigned us another page of written reflection. Her decision suggested she had heard Nolan even if she chose not to acknowledge him.

  The remaining hearings lasted until lunch. I listened more carefully after ours, especially when other teams defended rules that sounded fair until the panel applied them to an actual person. One proposal guaranteed equal shelter space but did not account for residents whose magic, health, or species made certain rooms unsafe.

  The problem followed me into the dining hall. Our rules looked fair when everyone on the page had the same needs. They grew less comfortable as soon as I pictured the people who would live with them.

  Zerina spotted us near the serving tables and waved from the younger students’ section. Zander sat beside her with both gloves visible, while Gaven and Sean argued over an answer in their tracking guide.

  “You look like the panel made you cry,” Zerina called with open delight.

  “I am saving that for the formal hearing,” I called back with dry humor while carrying my tray toward the fifth-year tables.

  “Today only damaged my trust in written government.”

  She accepted that answer with far too much delight. Joshy reminded her that her own tracking examination was approaching, and she immediately returned to the guide in front of her. Gaven thanked him for restoring order before Zander stole one of his potatoes.

  After lunch, Joshy and I used our project period to rebuild the emergency section. We divided restrictions into immediate protective actions, extended emergency orders, and community-wide limitations. Each needed clear requirements for verification and review, plus a written explanation of what remained uncertain.

  “One hour for an unverified protective order.”

  “After that, they need direct confirmation or approval from at least two community representatives,” I proposed while crossing out the old seven-day rule.

  “What if confirmation takes longer because the territory is large?” Joshy asked thoughtfully after reading the sentence twice.

  “Then the order can continue in the smallest affected area, but it cannot expand without review,” I answered.

  Joshy wrote the exception beneath mine. We spent twenty minutes arguing over the words and ended with a rule neither of us loved. It held up better than the one we had agreed on without a fight.

  The Academy day ended with combat conditioning instead of another hearing. Aunt Jess had apparently spoken to the instructor because the drills focused on the opening near my left shoulder. I spent an hour correcting it while Nolan tried not to laugh whenever the padded staff found the same spot.

  By the time we walked home, my shoulder ached from combat drills and our proposal had gained three pages. I thought of Dad’s folders but left them alone. He had trusted us because we did our Academy work; neglecting the assessment would give him reason to stop.

  Mom was in the family sitting room with a book open across her lap. Dad stood near the fireplace reading a single-page message, while Uncle Orian spoke quietly with one of the guards at the door. The room did not feel alarmed, but my attention fixed on the paper anyway.

  “Sam checked in from the next northern territory,” Dad explained with quiet reassurance after noticing my attention on the message.

  “He arrived safely and expects to remain there for several days.”

  Relief loosened my chest. Sam had traveled through the northern territories long enough that a late message made me imagine things Dad had never said. He offered no details of Sam’s work, and I did not ask for them.

  “Did he sound all right?” I asked.

  “Tired and irritated with the weather, which means he sounded like Sam,” Dad answered.

  “He also complained that the northern cooks believe pepper is dangerous,” Mom added with amused affection without looking up from her book.

  “Your father left that part out because he does not respect important intelligence.”

  “I was protecting her from irrelevant details,” Dad defended with exaggerated dignity while folding the message carefully.

  “You were protecting Sam’s dignity,” Uncle Orian corrected with quiet amusement as the guard left.

  Their teasing drew the worry out of the room. I sat beside Mom, and she tucked my cold hand beneath the blanket on her lap. She did not ask what I had feared while Dad unfolded the message.

  “The practice panel found six weaknesses in our government,” Joshy announced ruefully while placing our revised proposal on the low table.

  “Only six?” Dad teased after glancing at the three added pages.

  “They stopped when the bell rang,” I replied.

  Dad laughed and sat across from us. I had grown used to seeing him through his office doorway, bent over the investigation. Tonight he read our proposal as my father, and I found myself watching his face for his reaction.

  “This is better,” Dad said with thoughtful approval while tapping the sentence separating known facts from unconfirmed reports.

  “Authority should become harder to use as its consequences grow.”

  “That would have been useful advice before the hearing,” I complained as I leaned back against the couch.

  “You would have copied it without understanding why,” Dad explained.

  I wanted to deny it, but Joshy nodded before I could speak. Mom patted my hand with false sympathy while Uncle Orian took the chair beside Dad. Their expressions made it clear that no one intended to support me.

  We spent the next hour testing the rule against imagined emergencies. A damaged bridge required a narrow closure, a contaminated well required an immediate warning, and a missing patrol did not justify locking every gate. Some answers remained uncomfortable even after the rule improved.

  I carried the discomfort upstairs. In my warded journal, beneath the nightmare notes, I wrote three words from the hearing: Known. Reported. Unconfirmed. They belonged to our Academy proposal, but I needed them for the questions I carried home.

  Lorilie settled warmly inside my mind.

  ‘You did not solve anything today,’ she observed gently.

  ‘I know,’ I answered.

  ‘You are less angry about that than usual,’ Lorilie noted.

  I checked the protection marks around my room. They remained pale and steady, and the shadows stayed where they belonged. I left the journal open long enough to read what I had written beneath the dream.

  Tomorrow could be different. Tonight, though, Sam had sent word, the protection marks were steady, and Dad’s files were locked away. I had checked everything I could check. I closed the journal before I could find another reason to keep myself awake.