The terminal smelled like burned rubber and cold coffee. Not the epic sendoff she'd pictured.Tarin rolled the strap of her duffel between her hands, tightening and loosening it until the fabric bit into her palms. The stupid baton stuck out of the bag like a broken antenna, the duct tape around the handle already peeling.Dad stood a few feet away, pretending to check the departure board, like maybe if he stared at it long enough, her name would disappear.She stuffed her hands deeper into her jacket pockets and lifted her chin. Big girl. Brave face. No second thoughts."You packed the stabilizer charger, right?" he asked without looking at her."Yeah, Dad. Triple-checked." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. Points for that.He nodded, fiddling with the battered brim of his cap, like it would hide the crease between his brows.Tarin wanted to say something funny. Something easy, like they did when the car broke down, or the spell cores shorted out and they had to fix them with duct tape and prayers. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a thin scrape of breath.The announcement board fshed red. Final boarding call. Flight 274 to Orbital Academy loading now.Dad turned toward her then, and for the first time, he didn’t look like her invincible fixer, the guy who could patch anything from a leaking mana conduit to a broken heart with a ugh and a wrench. He just looked... tired. And scared.Tarin squared her shoulders. "It’s just training," she said, forcing a grin. "Not like I'm going to war or anything."Dad ughed, but it sounded hollow. "Kiddo, you’re gonna turn that Ring upside down. They won't know what hit 'em."Tarin's throat tightened. She pushed it down. If she cracked now, he might ask her to stay.And she couldn’t.Even if every part of her screamed to."You remember what I told you," he said, stepping closer. "You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. You just… you keep being you. That’s enough."She nodded quickly, before the burn behind her eyes got any worse.He pulled something from his jacket pocket — a tiny, battered charm. The old ignition key from the first mana rig he ever built. The one she’d crashed into a hedge when she was ten."For luck," he said, pressing it into her palm.Tarin closed her fingers around it, feeling the sharp edges bite into her skin. A tether to home. To him."Thanks," she croaked.Another announcement bred. Final final call.No more time.Dad stepped back, like he knew if he hugged her again, neither of them would let go.Tarin threw the duffel over her shoulder, wiped her palm on her jeans, and grinned wide and fierce."See you in the history books, old man," she said.Dad barked a ugh and saluted her, two fingers to his temple, just like he used to when they pyed explorer and captain in the backyard.Tarin turned on her heel before her face betrayed her, marching toward the loading bay with the kind of swagger she didn’t feel anywhere in her gut.The second the ship hatch hissed shut behind her, she pressed her forehead to the cool metal wall and let herself breathe. In. Out. In. Out.No tears.Not yet.When the thrusters kicked in, and the earth shrank to a marble below, Tarin clutched the ignition key so tight the teeth left marks in her palm.She wasn’t looking back.Because if she did, she might not survive letting go.