The Academy

Part One: Chapter Fourteen

I step out of my car, pulling a bag and Luna on a leash with me, and walk up the steps of my childhood home in Massachusetts. I've been excused from training for a week since news spread around the academy. I had no idea so many people knew my sister's name.

I stand at the door, staring at it. I don't want to knock. I had thought that the first time I'd return to this house after a year would be a happy moment, I thought I would have missed this place.

Everything is the same. Same paint, same yard decor, and I'm sure the inside is the same as it was before. But at the same time, everything is different.

The door opens, and I find myself staring into the bloodshot eyes of my mother. Luna is immediately excited to see her and be home, so I let her off the leash and she dashes inside. I stand on the porch holding my mother's gaze, neither of us moving or saying a word.

Until my father appears. "Olivia, come in." He offers me a tiny smile and I step into the familiar foyer. He looks much like my mother does, both of them tired and sad. "Do you want something to drink or..." Dad starts.

"No, thank you."

Mom steps forward now, bringing a shaky hand up to trace my bruised and bloody face. "What happened?" She asks quietly. I place my hand on hers, my stomach twisting at the thought of having to tell her the truth.

"The academy can get rough," is all I say. She seems to accept the answer and turns to walk through the house. I follow her into the kitchen. Just as I expected, nothing has changed. Even the warm smell of peppermint that always lingers is still present.

I bring my bag upstairs to my childhood bedroom, smiling faintly when I see it's exactly how I left it. I drop my bag on the bed and turn to go back downstairs, but something stops me. I turn, seeing the closed bedroom door where Amelia's room is.

I slowly step towards it and open the door. I'm hit with cold air, causing me to shiver. The fan is on and I shake my head. Amelia always said sleeping in the cold is better for the body and had frigid temperatures in her room.

Maybe she's right. I'll try the cold room theory, god knows my body needs to heal. My eyes fall on a picture of us, sitting on her nightstand. It's from high school, my sister and I both looking incredibly happy together. That's when my stomach jerks, and I sprint out of her room to the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty the little contents of my stomach into the toilet.

My throat burns and so do my eyes, and as soon as I feel slightly better I splash cold water onto my face, studying it in the mirror. The swelling has mostly gone down now, but dark bruises and fresh cuts and scabs still cover my face. No wonder Mom looked so horrified.

I make my way back downstairs where Dad is cleaning the kitchen while Mom sits curled on the couch, tissues clutched in her hand. I sit next to her, and she stifles a sob.

"What happened to her, Mom?" I ask quietly. Part of me doesn't want to know, but the other part is wracking my brain for how it could've happened.

Mom squeezes her eyes shut. "She was on a mission with eight other people." A quiet sob cuts off her sentence, followed by more. I move closer to her, tenderly embracing my mother as she cries.

"She would have wanted an honorable military funeral," I say once she slows down.

"We're having one in two days." Dad's voice carries across the room, and I see him standing nearby, his eyes watery.

I nod and press my lips together. "Where..." I start thickly, "Where's her body?"

My words cause both of my parents to fall apart. I'm confused, they know something I don't. What the hell happened to my sister?