Chapter 40-Responsibility

Odett’s POV

  “The officer still bears responsibility for the decision made with the information available,” I answered. “Review does not erase accountability, it checks whether the emergency power should continue.”

  “And if the officer was wrong?” she pressed without softening.

  “Then the record should show why, what information was missing, and what must change before the next emergency,” Joshy replied. “Getting it wrong doesn’t always mean someone was dishonest.”

  The instructor marked the section for further revision rather than approval. Nolan groaned, Cassian began writing before she finished speaking, and Joshy looked almost pleased to have another problem. I resisted the urge to remind him that normal people feared revisions.

  After lunch, the fifth-years reported to the records hall for a timed source exercise. Each team received six fictional reports describing a damaged bridge, displaced families, and conflicting witness accounts. We had to create one public notice and one protected leadership summary without placing restricted details in the wrong document.

  The reports named a family shelter, a child’s medical condition, and a suspect no one had verified. The border needed a clear public notice. Those private details did not need to travel with it.

  “The public notice should confirm the bridge closure, the safe alternate route, and where travelers can request assistance,” Cassian suggested.

  “Do we include the reported cause?” Nolan asked while tapping the patrol note.

  “Not until it is verified,” I answered firmly. “We can say the cause is under review without repeating the accusation.”

  Joshy sorted the information into public facts, protected needs, and unresolved claims. He kept the shelter location private and replaced the child’s diagnosis with the accommodation the family had requested. I watched him cross out the extra detail and thought about how easily a person could become a line in a report.

  We handed in both documents with less than a minute left. The public notice was brief and said the bridge’s cause remained under review. Our instructor gave no praise, but she put no confidentiality marks on our pages either.

  “I think that is the closest she comes to affection,” Nolan whispered.

  “She once told me my margins were adequate,” Joshy replied with false pride.

  “You should frame it after the assessment,” I suggested.

  “If I survive your proposal, I am putting that on a monument,” Nolan declared dramatically.

  The four of us left the records hall with another revision list and no desire to look at it immediately. Joshy walked beside me toward the castle path while Nolan and Cassian continued toward the training wing. The winter air felt cleaner than the carefully controlled silence of the records hall.

  “You handled Sam’s delay better than I expected,” Joshy observed.

  “That sounds insulting when you say it like that,” I complained.

  “I expected at least one attempt to interrogate your dad’s forehead,” he clarified with an amused smile.

  I bumped Joshy’s shoulder. He knew I was working at being calm, and he never confused that effort with ease. Sam’s note had quieted my worst fear; it had not made another day of waiting pleasant.

  “I wanted to ask for the report,” I admitted.

  “Why did you not?” Joshy asked gently.

  “Because Dad would either refuse, which would frustrate both of us, or show me something I do not have the authority to hold,” I explained thoughtfully. “Wanting reassurance does not make every boundary unfair.”

  Joshy nodded and walked on beside me. He didn’t congratulate me for doing what Dad asked or tell me it would get easier. I was glad. I needed him to understand why I was struggling, and he could do that without turning it into a conversation in the middle of the hallway.

  The castle was louder than usual when we returned. Zerina and Zander had spread pieces of a model settlement across the family sitting room, while Gaven and Sean argued over whether the miniature clinic belonged near the road or the central shelter. Their Academy assignment concerned storm preparation, not the northern attacks or Dad’s investigation.

  “The clinic needs two exits,” Zerina explained.

  “The shelter needs the larger building because more people sleep there,” Zander argued with earnest frustration.

  “Then stop trying to make one building do both jobs,” I suggested while removing my coat.

  The younger four moved their model pieces. Gaven set the clinic near the road, and Sean built a second path from thin wooden tiles. They had a storm-preparation assignment to finish; they had no reason to ask about the north.

  Mom watched from the doorway with a cup of tea cupped between her hands. She waited until the younger group returned to their debate before nodding toward the quieter library. Joshy remained with the model settlement while I followed her.

  “Your power feels steadier today,” Mom observed.

  “The shield-hall exhaustion is gone,” I answered cautiously. “I have not had another nightmare since the one Grandma viewed.”

  “That does not mean you have to wait for another one before talking to us,” Mom reminded me with quiet concern.

  Mom waited for me to answer. She knew why I’d hidden the nightmares, even though finding out so late had hurt her. Now she was giving me a chance to tell her something before I panicked. Without a list of questions to get through, I found I wanted to say more.

  “Sam being delayed made me want to turn every unknown into something terrible,” I confessed with embarrassed frustration.

  “That is what fear does when it wants to feel useful,” Mom replied.

  “How do you stop it?” I asked softly.

  “I do not always stop it,” she answered. “I ask whether the fear gave me information or only demanded action.”

  I thought about her question on the way to bed. Fear had made me watch Dad’s face until he told us Sam was safe. It had also urged me to read a report that would not bring him home a moment sooner.

  Before bed, I copied Sam’s last sentence into my warded journal. Beneath it I wrote what I knew: he was safe, the review had delayed him, and he still intended to come home. I left the rest of the page blank.

  I put the journal down without filling the empty space beneath Sam’s message. Tomorrow I might think of another thing I wanted to ask him. Tonight the castle creaked around me, Lorilie settled, and I fell asleep before I could turn his honest few words into a warning.