Daughter of Nox

Chapter Twenty-Three

After Reynard finished welcoming them, his holo walked them through where they were to go from there.

"Room assignments and uniforms will take up most of the rest of your day," he said without any of the excitement he'd shown when discussing the F.O.X. sim.

As soon as Reynard's holo and the instructions had disappeared, Etta and Father had walked away to speak privately. That's when Freya's Father spoke.

"You performed adequately."

Reynard's comments had been like kindling for how mad she felt, and she'd saving every bit of that heat for Father. But his words sucked almost every bit of air from that fire.

Almost.

"Oh, wow, thanks for the high praise," she said, throwing every ounce of sarcasm into her voice. "Of course, I might not have earned a strike on my record had you warned me that this was a sim."

"If I'd told you about the sim then it wouldn't have been a surprise."

"Uh, yeah, Dad, that's kind of my point,' she said. "This wasn't a surprise birthday party you were trying to keep secret. This was me thinking you were dead, and then charging into enemy guns."

"I understand that you're upset," he told her, "but trust me when I say that it was crucial for you to believe that what you were experiencing was real."

"If you're about to launch into some lecture about duty, or commitment, or something equally annoying, then you can just save it, alright?" she said with a scowl. "You've already lasered me into my part of Rúnda Airm's very important mission for universal peace, and I don't need another pep talk to remind me of how bleak that future looks."

Her father's stern expression wavered, and for a moment she thought she saw pain soften his eyes. Freya felt something small snap inside of her at the sight of it, but rather than let herself feel it, she clung to her anger.

"I'm leaving," she said, turning toward the entrance.

"Freya, wait," Father said from behind her.

She stopped, feeling a hesitation that she'd turn to find the pain she'd seen in his eyes now etched on his face, but she forced herself to turn around.

"Here," he said, holding out the bag she'd brought with her from the house–the bag she'd left behind in the cruiser.

Freya looked at the bag, then to him, and felt fresh anger boil into her throat. She snatched it from his hand and stomped away without another word.

Etta was waiting for her when Freya emerged onto the grounds.

"If I had to guess from looking at your face," Etta said, stroking her chin, "and keep in mind, I'm just spitballing here, but I'd say you and your Dad just made up for every bad feeling you've ever had toward each other."

Freya let out a dark chuckle. "It's like you read my mind."

"I knew it!" Etta shouted. "The moment I saw you I just knew you two had made up." Etta planted her hands on her hips. "So were there tears? Hugs? Be honest."

Freya felt her anger snap, and let out a laugh so loud that a pair of Novices walking past them turned to stare.

"Carry on," Etta said with a shooing gesture. "Nothing to see here."

The Novices shot her a dirty look but kept walking.

"Honestly though," Etta said. "Your Dad–good, or really, very, extremely bad?"

Freya felt something unwind in her chest as she thought about the pained expression on her father's face. "So very bad."

"Yikes," Etta said. "What happened?"