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My hands unclench from the fists I didn’t realize I made. Dots spot across the corner of my vision. I think I’m going to faint.

“The Goad Squad is still a great way to participate, Cadet Mitchell, and might be a better way for you to channel all your animosity. You can express all that rage into your chants and cheers.”

The Goad Squad—professional hecklers, a predominately sidelined group of cadets intent on distracting the opposing Solarball players with their jeers and parlor tricks.

Bile rises in my throat as the crowd boos their disapproval of my elimination.

And yet I can barely hear them.

Barely feel Leaf as he guides me through the side exit of the amphitheater.

Barely taste the ale Akemi placed in my hands at Anita’s later that evening.

It was my dream to play on a Solarball team for as long as I can remember, and I failed.

I didn’t get on a team.

I failed.

18

Memories From the Stars

Beams of early morning sunlight shine through the crack in the drapes, revealing the light dusting of snow in the pines in the distance. In the past few weeks, autumn has fully taken hold over late summer, and up in the mountains, that could involve a light snow or two. Somehow, I was roped into joining the Goad Squad with Ramona, and Leaf’s journey to becoming the Watch’s finest Captain is well underway. Everything seems… settled, and yet I cannot seem to shake the sense that someone is watching me. A shadow that lingers too long, or a flicker of brown fur that reminds me of a time underground I’d rather forget.

I shrug off the plush woven blanket and place my feet on the worn wooden floor of my dorm room. It is the nicest place I’ve lived in yet, but that didn’t stop me from scratching another tally mark on the side of my dresser. I yawn and cross the room to place another log in the fire, poking the stack of wood the way I know will bring flames roaring to life soon. I make quick work of boiling water and pouring it over my crushed beans, using a thin strip of fabric to filter it. Delicious, hot, steaming bean brew fills the room, and I cannot help but feel a deep sense of gratitude.

I grab a blanket from my bed in one hand, mug of brew in the other, and crack open the window. Sweet, crisp air streams through the opening as I nuzzle the cup, snuggled up on the window seat. I take a deep breath, savoring the bitter tones of the brew with the pine fresh breeze from the mountains. A log pops in the fireplace as I watch the sun crest over the peaks.

Something about this moment breaks me down the middle. Like memories and nostalgia wrapped in a beautifully tragic package that hurts that place behind my ribs. I try not to let my mind wander from the pinks and oranges boldly declaring the start of a new day, and yet the more comfortable I feel in this new life—new adventure—at the Watch, the more I’m reminded of why I’m here.

The hollow space that I’m desperately trying to fill. Maybe there is something I can do about it. Use my Starwatcher abilities to seek answers in the stars as to the whereabouts of my friends. My family. I had a vision a few months ago of Rosie, Bane, Nickel, and Row after the Underworld attack. Row wasn’t in good shape, but perhaps the stars have witnessed more since then.

I’ll take this to Castor in our lesson later today. It is only our third lesson, and I’m determined to make something substantial happen. Ever since my capture with the Jord, my gifts seemed to be… blocked.

Today will be the day I get past it, I tell myself in the mirror. My golden eyes stare back, and I swear—I lean forward until my nose is almost touching the glass—they just glowed for a moment.

The rest of the morning flies by quickly, from the last unit of war horses in Battlefield to lunch to Elementation.

Castor is hunched over a desk, scowling at piles of papers, when I enter the open classroom on Level Ten, next to Elementation, that we have permission to use for our private lessons. He slaps a paper off the side of the desk and runs a hand through his dark tresses.

“Something wrong?”

He stands abruptly, kicking the chair back with a screech.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Realizing that it’s me and not a pack of ghosthounds, he sits back down. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I gathered as much.”

He doesn’t respond, just gets sucked back into the stack of papers. Maps, I realize as I step a little closer. “What is it?”

Castor groans and leans back on the chair, crossing his ankles in front of him and propping his arms behind his head. He looks frazzled.

A far stretch from his usual stoic demeanor. Something is wrong.

“It’s the Southern Continent. They are gathering forces at the border in numbers that we haven’t seen since the Great Wars.”