Morning in the Tower was identical to every other hour. The Ashlight overhead burned constant, indifferent to sleep or waking. But the people had learned to pretend at rhythms, carving days and nights out of endless glow.
Kaelen's "morning" began with hunger.
The ration line stretched three levels down the corridor, hundreds of voices murmuring under the enforcers' watch. The air was damp with sweat, pipes dripping steadily overhead. The scent of boiled grain filled the passageway, thick and sour.
Kaelen shifted his weight, the coins in his pocket pitifully light. Every cough, every wheeze in the line made him think of Lyra.
He glanced at the enforcers stationed by the ration gate. Their visors reflected the crowd in blank crimson. Their batons rested easy against their hips, but Kaelen knew how fast those hands could move.
A man three places ahead argued with the distributor, voice tight with anger. "My family's five mouths, not three. You've cut us twice this month."
The distributor, a weary woman in stained gray, didn't look up. "Quotas changed. Five mouths or three, the allotment's the same."
The man slammed his hand on the counter. The enforcers moved instantly, red visors flashing. They seized him by the arms, dragging him away as the crowd shrank back. His wife shouted after him, clutching two children to her chest, but no one else dared speak.
The distributor filled the man's container anyway. Then she shoved it into his wife's hands without meeting her eyes.
Kaelen swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Survival. That was all any of them could hope for.
When his turn came, the distributor gave him a chipped tin bowl half-full of thin porridge. He took it silently, retreating into the crowd.
He hated himself for the relief he felt that no one had challenged him.
---
By the time he returned to their level, Lyra was awake. She sat propped against the wall, a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her smile at his arrival was thin but real.
"Smells like glue," she teased as he set the bowl down.
"Better than last time." He stirred the porridge carefully, blowing on the steam. "There's a little grain in it today."
"Luxury." She tried to laugh but coughed instead.
He fed her slowly, each spoonful careful, waiting until her breathing steadied between bites. She ate little before shaking her head.
"You finish it," she said.
"I'm not hungry."
"Kael." Her eyes fixed on his. Too sharp for how weak she looked. "Don't lie to me."
His throat tightened. He forced down the rest of the porridge, though each bite tasted like dust.
When the bowl was empty, he set it aside and sat beside her, pressing his shoulder against hers.
"Do you ever think," Lyra murmured, "about what it's like outside? Beyond the Tower?"
Kaelen looked toward the wall. Rust streaks, dripping pipes. Beyond it—nothing he'd ever seen.
"I think it doesn't matter," he said finally. "This is what we have."
Her lips curved faintly. "That's not what I asked."
He didn't answer.
---
Later, when she slept again, Kaelen returned to the market. Not for rations this time. For something more dangerous.
He found Ryn exactly where he expected: perched on a railing above the trading floor, tossing a copper coin into the air and catching it with practiced ease.
When Kaelen approached, Ryn grinned. "Dray. Knew you'd come back."
Kaelen scowled. "You knew nothing."
"I knew desperation. Same look's on half the Tower's faces. But yours?" Ryn leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Yours is sharper. Like you're ready to cut through the walls if you have to."
Kaelen crossed his arms. "What do you want from me?"
Ryn hopped down from the railing, landing light on his feet. "Partnership."
"I don't deal with thieves."
"Everyone in the Tower's a thief. Only difference is who we're stealing from."
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "I don't have time for games."
Ryn studied him a moment, then his grin softened. "Not games, Dray. Opportunities."
From his pocket, he pulled a thin strip of metal, etched with faint circuitry. It gleamed faintly in the Ashlight.
Kaelen frowned. "What is that?"
"Access card. Restricted levels." Ryn twirled it between his fingers. "Freshly copied."
"You stole that."
"Borrowed it. From someone who didn't deserve it." Ryn's eyes sparkled with mischief. "There's medicine down there, Dray. Whole crates of it, waiting for someone bold enough to reach out and take it."
Kaelen's pulse quickened. He wanted to dismiss it—too risky, too impossible—but Lyra's cough echoed in his skull.
"Why tell me?" he asked carefully.
"Because you've got skin in the game." Ryn smirked. "And I need someone who won't break when things get loud."
Kaelen stared at the strip of metal. He thought of the dealer's grin, of the enforcers dragging men away, of Lyra's hand trembling against his.
Finally, he said: "Show me."
Ryn's grin widened. "Knew you'd see reason."
---
The descent began through forgotten corridors. Ryn led the way, whistling softly as if this were all routine. Kaelen followed in silence, scanning every shadow.
They passed broken elevators, stairwells blocked by debris, corridors where the Ashlight flickered dimly. Rats scurried in the darkness. The air grew cooler, damper, filled with the stench of mold.
Kaelen's skin prickled. "How far down?"
"Not far. Not yet." Ryn's voice echoed. "They keep storage on the mid-lower levels. Places the Governor thinks no one remembers."
"And if we're caught?"
"Then you run faster than I do." Ryn's grin flashed in the gloom.
Kaelen didn't smile.
---
They stopped before a steel door, heavy and rust-streaked. A faded warning sign was painted across it: AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY.
Ryn knelt at the panel, sliding the card into a narrow slot. Sparks crackled. For a tense moment, nothing happened.
Then the lock clicked.
The door groaned open, releasing a gust of stale air.
Beyond lay a corridor lined with crates stamped with the Governor's insignia.
Kaelen's heart pounded.
"Medicine," Ryn said softly, sweeping his arm toward the shelves. "Yours for the taking."
Kaelen stepped forward, breath shallow. Each crate held what he'd begged, bartered, and bled for—vials, sealed and clean, more than he'd ever dreamed of seeing in one place.
His hands shook as he reached for the nearest.
And then—
A sound.
Boots on steel. Voices echoing closer.
Ryn cursed under his breath. "Enforcers."
Kaelen froze, vial in hand, heart slamming in his chest.
Ryn grabbed his arm. "Decision time, Dray. Run—or fight."
---