I wake to the sound of my grandmother's key turning in the lock, followed by her quiet footsteps as she tries not to disturb me. The digital clock on my desk glows 3:47 AM in harsh red numbers. She's earlier than usual, her shifts at the Chen estate typically last until dawn.
I listen to her moving through our small apartment, the soft whisper of her slippers on the worn linoleum, the gentle clink of dishes as she puts away her empty thermos. There's something different in her movements tonight, a hesitation that makes me sit up in bed.
"Nai Nai?" I call softly through the thin wall that separates our sleeping areas.
"Go back to sleep, Feng. I'm fine."
But she doesn't sound fine. Her voice carries a tremor I've never heard before, fragile in a way that makes my stomach clench with worry. I slip out of bed and pad barefoot to the main room, where I find her sitting at our kitchen table with her head in her hands.
In the pale light filtering through our single window, she looks smaller than usual, as if something has physically diminished her during the night. Her gray hair has come loose from its usual neat bun, hanging in disheveled strands around her face. Her hands shake where they rest against her temples.
"What happened?" I ask, settling into the chair across from her.
She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she stares at the scratched surface of our table, her fingers tracing patterns that only she can see. When she finally speaks, her words come out barely above a whisper.
"They accused me of stealing."
The words hit like a physical blow. My grandmother has worked for the Chen family for three years, caring for their younger children with a devotion that borders on love. She's never taken so much as an extra grain of rice from their kitchen, despite the fact that we often go to bed hungry.
"What did they say you stole?"
"Yu Chen's pendant. The jade one with her family crest." She finally looks up at me, and I see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "She claimed she had it when she went to bed, but when she woke up this morning, it was gone."
Yu Chen. The same girl who watched my humiliation in class with such obvious pleasure. The universe has a cruel sense of irony.
"But you didn't take it." It's not a question. I know my grandmother better than I know myself, know the absolute integrity that guides every action she takes.
"Of course I didn't." Her voice gains strength, indignation cutting through the hurt. "I would never... But they searched our quarters anyway. Went through my bag, my coat pockets, even made me remove my shoes."
I can picture it clearly, my proud grandmother forced to submit to such degradation while the Chen family watched, their judgment already passed before the search began. The image fills me with a rage so pure it takes effort to keep my voice steady.
"Did they find anything?"
"Nothing. Because there was nothing to find." She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "But Master Chen said... he said that just because they couldn't locate it doesn't mean I'm innocent. That I might have hidden it somewhere else, or passed it to an accomplice."
The casual cruelty of it steals my breath. They know she's innocent, they have to know. But admitting their daughter might have simply lost the pendant would mean losing face, and for families like the Chens, reputation matters more than truth.
"What happens now?"
"They're keeping me on, but..." She hesitates, as if saying the words aloud will make them more real. "They've cut my pay in half. Compensation for the 'missing' item, they called it. And I'm not allowed to be alone with the children anymore. Another servant has to be present at all times."
Half pay. We can barely survive on her full wages, and now they want to take even that away. The rent on our tiny apartment will consume nearly everything she earns, leaving us to choose between electricity and food.
"This is about more than a pendant," I say, the words coming out harder than I intended. "They're looking for an excuse to get rid of you, aren't they?"
She doesn't answer, but the way she avoids my eyes tells me everything. The Chen family has probably found someone younger, someone they can pay even less. My grandmother is fifty-nine years old, showing the effects of a lifetime in the toxic air of Lower Wuhan. To employers like the Chens, she's becoming more liability than asset.
"Maybe I should look for other work," she says quietly. "There are other families"
"Who will all hear about this supposed theft. Who will see your age and the gray in your hair and find younger women to exploit instead." I lean forward, taking her weathered hands in mine. "This isn't your fault, Nai Nai. None of this is your fault."
But even as I say the words, I know they ring hollow. In our world, fault has nothing to do with truth and everything to do with power. The Chens can destroy my grandmother's reputation with a casual lie because they have magic and money and social standing. We have nothing but each other.
She squeezes my hands, her grip still strong despite everything. "We'll manage, Feng. We always do."
I want to believe her, but the numbers don't lie. Half her salary means we'll have to choose between keeping the apartment and keeping me in school. The Academy's tuition might be subsidized for Cursed students, but there are still fees, still books and supplies that cost more than most families in Lower Wuhan see in a month.
"I could drop out," I offer. "Find work in the factories, or...."
"No." Her voice cuts through the air with surprising force. "Never. Your education is the only way out of this place, the only chance you have at something better."
"What's the point?" The bitterness in my voice surprises us both. "I can't do magic, Nai Nai. All the education in the world won't change that."
"Magic isn't everything."
"It is in our world."
She stands abruptly, moving to the small window that overlooks the alley behind our building. Dawn is still hours away, but the first shift workers are already beginning their trudge to the factories and service jobs that keep the city running.
"When I was young," she says without turning around, "before the Confluence changed everything, people found worth in different ways. Hard work, kindness, intelligence, these things mattered as much as raw ability."
"That was a hundred years ago."
"The principles haven't changed, only people's perception of them." She turns back to me, and despite the exhaustion etched in every line of her face, there's a fire in her eyes that reminds me why she's survived this long. "You're brilliant, Feng. Your professors may not appreciate it now, but knowledge has its own power."
I want to share her faith, but yesterday's humiliation is still too fresh. The memory of standing in front of my classmates with empty hands and emptier hope plays on repeat in my mind. All the theoretical knowledge in the world means nothing when you can't produce so much as a spark.
"I should let you get some sleep," I say, standing and heading back toward my room.
"Feng."
I pause in the doorway.
"Promise me something. Promise me you won't give up on school, no matter what happens with my work situation."
The words stick in my throat. How can I promise something that might not be possible? How can I continue pursuing an education that feels more like torture than opportunity?
But looking at her, at this woman who has sacrificed everything for my future, who still believes in possibilities I can no longer see, I find myself nodding.
"I promise."
She smiles, the expression transforming her tired face into something beautiful. "Good. Now get some rest. You have classes in a few hours."
I return to my small room and lie back down on my narrow bed, but sleep doesn't come. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and think about justice, about power, about the casual cruelty of people who have never known what it means to want.
The Chen family will face no consequences for their lies. They'll continue living in their tower, their daughter will eventually find her missing pendant in some forgotten corner of her room, and they'll never acknowledge the damage they've done to an innocent woman's life. Because they can. Because the world is built for people like them, and people like us exist only to serve their convenience.
My hands clench into fists beneath my thin blanket. I picture Yu Chen's smirking face, imagine what it would feel like to wipe that expression away permanently. The fantasy is so vivid I can almost taste it, the satisfaction of watching her realize that actions have consequences, that even the powerful can be made to pay for their cruelty.
But fantasies are all I have. I'm eighteen years old, Cursed, living in a slum where the very air slowly kills anyone unlucky enough to breathe it. The Yu Chens of the world will continue to step on people like my grandmother because they know we can't fight back.
The unfairness of it burns in my chest like acid, eating away at whatever naive faith I might have once held in cosmic justice. If the universe truly rewarded good and punished evil, my grandmother would be sleeping peacefully in a clean home, and Yu Chen would be the one lying awake worrying about rent money.
Instead, evil thrives because it has power, and good suffers because it doesn't.
I must have dozed fitfully, because the next thing I know, pale morning light is creeping through my small window and the sound of my grandmother preparing for another day filters through the wall. She moves more slowly than usual, as if the night's events have aged her years in a matter of hours.
When I emerge from my room, she's already dressed for work, her hair once again pulled back in its neat bun. She's made breakfast, rice porridge stretched with water to make it last longer, and set out my school uniform.
"How long have you been up?" I ask, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
"Not long." She hands me a bowl of porridge that's more water than rice. "I wanted to make sure you had something before you left for school."
We eat in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. The porridge tastes like disappointment and determination mixed together, flavored with the knowledge that this might be one of our last mornings in this apartment.
"I'll see if I can pick up extra work," she says as I finish eating. "Mrs. Liu mentioned that the family in 4B needs someone to watch their baby while the mother works."
More work means less sleep, more exposure to the toxic magical runoff that's already poisoning her system. But I know better than to argue. We do what we must to survive, even when survival feels more like slow death.
"Be careful today," I tell her as we prepare to leave the apartment together.
"You too." She kisses my forehead, the same blessing she's given me every morning for as long as I can remember. "Remember, you're worth more than their small minds can comprehend."
I want to believe her. As I walk through the gradually improving neighborhoods on my way to school, I try to hold onto that faith. But with each step up from the slums toward the gleaming towers of the Academy district, the distance between her words and reality becomes harder to ignore.
The Academy looms before me, its crystal spires catching the morning sun and throwing rainbow patterns across the sky. Somewhere in those towers, Yu Chen is probably getting ready for another day of casual cruelty, never sparing a thought for the woman whose life she's destroyed with her lies.
I climb the steps to the main entrance, my worn shoes loud against the polished stone. Other students flow around me in their expensive uniforms, discussing magical theories and weekend plans that exist in a world I can observe but never enter.
But today feels different somehow. Maybe it's the anger still burning in my chest from last night's revelation, or maybe it's the growing certainty that something has to change. I can't keep living in a world where the powerful prey on the powerless without consequence.
I don't know what that change might look like, or how someone like me could possibly make a difference. But as I walk through the Academy's hallowed halls, I find myself making a different kind of promise.
Someday, somehow, the Yu Chens of the world will learn what it feels like to be powerless.
Someday, the scales will balance.
And when that day comes, I'll make sure they remember every person they've crushed on their way to the top.
The thought should disturb me, but instead it fills me with a cold satisfaction that feels almost like hope.
Almost.