"You can still back out."
Finicky registration keeper Pell spoke without glancing up from his scroll. His pen made noise while writing a last-minute equipment inspection. Gray light before morning seeped into the muster yard, where teams huddled uneasily.
In front of his temporary table, I carried my small backpack. My ribs hurt from the spoon-map's concealed square. I held Caelan's arrowhead, which was weighty and chilly.
Pell droned, "The rules say you can leave voluntarily until the departure horn." Finally, he looked at me with exhausted, tearful eyes. "Because of your... special circumstance, no one would judge you." He clarified that "Everyone thinks you should quit" meant that. Use your common sense.
I let hope blossom for a mad moment. Not a chance to win. It was a freedom hope
