Chapter 38

Otter hated saying goodbye.

His mother, of course, had always been practical about it. People come and go, Otter. The important ones find their way back.

He wasn’t sure what that said about his father, who hadn’t found his way back. Was he unimportant? What about those who died in the simulation? They would never find their way back home. No, Otter decided. His mother was wrong about this.

His pack was slung over one shoulder, heavier than it had been when he arrived in Brighthaven. His new gloves were already broken in, the leather soft but sturdy. The sea glass charm she had tied to her wrist still caught the morning light.

She stood in front of him now, arms crossed, watching him with a careful expression—one that masked the emotions lurking just beneath.

“You’ve got everything?” she asked.

Otter nodded. “Yeah.”

She exhaled through her nose, then pulled him into a tight hug. He closed his eyes, conjuring images of the last week in his mind—images of his mother in the kitchen, of her soft snores at night, of all the things that made home... home.

“Don’t go getting yourself into trouble,” she murmured against his hair.

He snorted. “That’s probably not happening.”

She pulled back just enough to cup his face. “Otter, I mean it.” Her voice was quieter now, more serious. “Whatever you’re chasing—whatever you’re trying to find—it won’t be worth it if it gets you killed.”

Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised.

She searched his face for a long moment, then finally nodded.

Another carriage rolled to a stop nearby, the driver hopping down to load up luggage. Other students were gathering, murmuring their own goodbyes.

Otter adjusted the strap on his shoulder and gave his mother one last smile. “I’ll send letters when I can.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, stepping back. Then she pulled out a small, smooth stone and handed it to him. It was the whisper stone he’d sent her on his birthday. “And if you can get that recharged or something. Well, that would be wonderful. Hearing your voice…” A tear ran down her cheek.

Otter went back in for another hug. “You got it.”

He hesitated for only a second longer before turning toward the carriage.

Then a voice called out behind him.

“Wait!”

Otter turned just in time to see Erin sprinting toward him, her satchel bouncing against her side.

“Nice of you to show up,” he said.

She skidded to a stop, a little breathless. “I almost missed it.”

Marla arched an eyebrow. “You know, Otter mentioned nothing about a girlfriend while he was home.”

Otter nearly choked. “Ma—!”

Erin didn’t even crack a smile. “Well, he is terribly forgetful.”

Otter shot her a look, but before he could say anything, the driver called out. “Last call for the Academy!”

Erin grinned and hopped up into the carriage.

Otter turned back to his mother, suddenly aware of the lump forming in his throat.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Marla’s expression softened. “I love you too, son.”

And with that, Otter climbed into the carriage and took his seat beside Erin.

The door shut, and with a lurch, the carriage began to move.

The road stretched long and quiet before them, the winter landscape rolling past in shades of gray and white. It had snowed the night before, a thin dusting that clung to the trees and rooftops of Brighthaven. But as the carriage rocked steadily forward, the snow gave way to bare fields and frozen streams.

Otter felt a mix of emotions. Part of him was excited to return to the Academy, to the secrets it held. What would he learn this semester? Another part of him was loathe to leave the simplicity of home behind, to return to what had become a complicated and dangerous world.

The inside of the carriage was subdued, the usual chatter of students replaced by quiet contemplation. Otter sat beside Erin, who had her arms crossed, her expression unreadable as she stared out the window. Across from them, Torrin slumped in his seat, arms resting on his knees, his head bowed slightly.

Things felt different from the first time they’d made this trip.

Maybe it was the quiet.

Maybe it was the empty seats.

At first, Otter thought Torrin was just tired, but after nearly an hour of silence, it was clear something was eating at him. He had a pretty good idea what it was.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on frozen ground filled the silence. Otter adjusted his gloves, flexing his fingers against the leather, and finally spoke.

"Did you, uh… have a good Binding?"

Torrin barely reacted. His fingers tightened where they rested on his knees, but otherwise, he didn't move.

“Fine,” he said shortly.

Otter frowned.

It wasn’t fine. Torrin was never this quiet.

Erin must have sensed it too, because she turned away from the window and studied him. “Are you sure about coming back?”

That got a reaction. Torrin’s head snapped up, and he scowled. "I don’t need you two doubting me,” he muttered.

Otter raised his hands. "Hey, no one's doubting you."

Torrin let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? You should. Because I am doubting me.”

Erin and Otter exchanged a glance.

Torrin leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes briefly before exhaling sharply. "I keep thinking about the simulation. About Lyle. About the Kaosborn.” His jaw tightened. “I hesitated. If I’d moved faster, maybe Lyle wouldn’t have—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Otter shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn’t your fault, Torrin."

"I know that," Torrin snapped. Then, quieter, "I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead, and I was right there."

Otter swallowed. He had thought the same thing more times than he could count. If he had reacted sooner, if he had been just a little luckier—

"You still came back," Erin said.

Torrin rubbed his face. “Yeah. Maybe I’m an idiot.”

Otter huffed. “Then so are we.”

That got a small, tired smirk out of him. “Yeah. Guess so.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, it was less suffocating.

Otter glanced at Erin. She looked lost in thought, fingers absently tracing the stitching of her coat. He was about to ask her what she was thinking when the carriage hit a rut, jolting them all.

“Any idea who didn’t come back?” Erin asked after a moment.

Gage,” Torrin said without hesitation. “Maybe he’s got more brains than I gave him credit for.”

“There was a girl named Calla. A Spell Lord, I think,” Otter added. “I didn’t know her that well.”

"Calla Fletcher?" Erin frowned. "She was in some of my classes. She never struck me as the type to quit."

"Maybe she had a change of heart after the simulation," Torrin said.

Otter thought back to the girl. They had barely exchanged more than a few words, but he remembered seeing her during midterms, hunched over her exam, brow furrowed in concentration. She had been serious about the Academy. He wasn’t sure why, but Calla’s absence sat wrong with him. He could understand Gage leaving—he’d always talked about how he was going to be the next big thing, but it had been mostly bravado. Maybe he had seen what real danger looked like and decided it wasn’t worth it.

But Calla?

She had made it through the simulation.

She had survived.

So why leave? Had something happened to her family? If his own mother had been hurt during the attack, Otter might not have left.

They fell back into silence, then, the weight of reality settling onto them like the snow blanketing the world outside.

There was a brief break around noon. Long enough for the students to stretch their legs. Most of the others had wandered a short distance away, murmuring amongst themselves, or taking the opportunity to have some alone time. The air was frosty, but the sky was clear, a pale winter sun casting long shadows over the snow-dusted ground.

Otter found Erin a little way from the road, leaning against the trunk of a bare oak tree. She’d pulled her coat tighter around herself, her breath misting in the crisp air as she gazed toward the horizon.

For a moment, he just stood there, debating whether to say anything.

Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked over. “Hey.”

Erin glanced at him, then back at the distant treeline. “Hey.”

They stood in silence for a few beats, the only sound the occasional snort from the horses and the muffled voices of their classmates in the distance.

Then Otter cleared his throat. “So. About what my mom said. The… ‘girlfriend’ comment.”

He watched as Erin stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coat.

Otter hesitated, suddenly second-guessing whether he should have brought it up. But now that he had, there was no going back.

“I just…” He exhaled sharply. “Was that weird for you? Because I didn't really know what to say.”

Erin let out a soft laugh—short and dry. “Yeah. I caught that.”

Otter groaned. “I panicked.”

“I noticed.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It just—I mean, we haven’t really talked about… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between them. “And then my mother just dropped that like it was common knowledge or something, and I just—”

“You panicked.”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Erin shook her head, amused despite herself. “Otter.”

“What?”

“I don’t know either.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

She sighed, shifting so she was facing him properly. “I like you. That much I know. But I also know that things are complicated. We’re both figuring out a lot right now. The Academy. Kaosborn.” She looked down, rubbing at a smudge on her glove. “I don’t want to rush into something we’re not ready for. But I also don’t want to pretend nothing’s changed.”

Otter nodded slowly. “So… we just take it one step at a time?”

“Yeah,” Erin said softly. “One step at a time.”

Otter exhaled, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. “That actually makes me feel better.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Otter glanced up at the sky, watching the lazy drift of clouds. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and took Erin’s gloved hand in his.

She didn’t pull away.

A sharp whistle broke the moment.

“Break’s over!”

They both jumped, looking toward the carriages where the driver was waving them back.

Otter turned back to Erin. “Guess that’s our cue.”

She smiled, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “Let’s go.”