he fire popped, spitting sparks that danced in the stale air before winking out against the damp stone. Around it, the hidden tribe of the Hollow City uncoiled — thin-limbed boys with feral eyes, girls who flinched at any sudden movement, and a bent boy they called Pigeon who wouldn't meet Rafi's gaze for more than a heartbeat at a time.
Rafi pressed closer to the warmth, the sick boy cocooned in his coat, the braid girl curled beside them like a watchful ghost. His shoulders ached from carrying the fever weight. His tongue felt dry as burlap.
The scarred girl — their leader, whether she claimed the crown or not — crouched across the drum fire. She twirled her splintered broom-handle spear between pale fingers. Her scar twisted when she spoke.
You ran from the hush, she said. Not a question. A charge. A secret laid bare for the tribe to sniff at like blood in water.
Rafi didn't answer right away. He stroked the boy's clammy forehead, feeling the hush's echo still clinging in the pulse under his skin. The braid girl's eyes flicked between him and the scarred leader, willing him to choose the right words.
Finally he said, It found us. We ran because we didn't want to feed it.
A hiss from Pigeon, huddled behind a milk crate. It always eats. One by one. That's the bargain.
Another, a gaunt girl with hair like dried straw, whispered, Did it mark you? Did you bring it here? Her eyes darted to the tunnel's mouth, expecting the hush to slither through any second.
Rafi's fists clenched in the boy's tattered shirt. I don't want your scraps. Just warmth. He needs it.
The scarred girl leaned closer. The fire made the gash in her lip glow like a fresh wound. Everything here costs. Hollow City takes just like the hush does — slower maybe, but same in the end. You want warmth? What do you give?
Rafi swallowed. He felt the braid girl's hand slip into his — her small palm a reminder that, despite the hush's whisper, he was not entirely alone.
He lifted his chin. We don't have anything worth stealing. But I can work. Fight if you need it. We know the upper tunnels better than you. We know how to slip past the hush's roots.
The scarred girl laughed — not cruel exactly, but raw enough to sting. You think you're the first rats to crawl down here promising the map back out? Hollow City eats maps.
Pigeon piped up again, voice trembling, Let him stay, Marrow. He's got fight. And she's got eyes like my sister had. He nodded toward the braid girl, who stared back without blinking.
Marrow — the scarred girl, the one with the broom spear — narrowed her eyes. The hush pulsed in the walls behind her like a giant's slow breath.
Finally she shrugged. Stay, then. Feed your ghost boy the heat while we got it. But if the hush calls your name, don't expect us to tie you down. It eats what it wants.
She barked at the others: Find them space near the back. No stealing, no spitting curses, no creeping up with knives while they sleep. They're kin now. Broken kin.
A murmur rippled through the tribe — half relief, half distrust that never fully vanished down here.
Someone tossed a battered blanket toward Rafi. Another pushed a half-empty can of beans into his free hand. The braid girl caught the bean can before it hit the floor, cracked it open with a knife hidden somewhere in her sleeve. She fed the boy a few tepid spoonfuls while he drifted in and out of fever dreams.
Rafi let his eyes flutter shut for a breath. He heard Hollow City's secret heart pounding in the pipes. He heard the hush laughing far above — or maybe far inside — whispering through the concrete bones: Kin bleed for kin. You'll see.
He knew this place wouldn't save them. But it would buy them a few hours of warmth before the hush came knocking again.
In the Hollow City, that was mercy enough.