They had two weeks to prepare. It was both an eternity and not nearly enough time.
Kael spent most of his time working on the barrier mechanisms. The system was more complex than he'd initially realized. There were multiple fail-safes, redundant controls, security protocols that would alert the guards if triggered.
Maren proved invaluable here. He'd spent weeks studying the electronic systems and had identified a way to disable the primary alert system temporarily. It would give them maybe six hours before the guards realized what had happened.
"Six hours isn't much," Sera said when Maren explained his plan.
"It's enough," Thrace said. "If we time it right, we open the barrier during the shift change. The security personnel are at their lowest numbers. We can get a lot of people through in six hours."
"People will get hurt," Kira said quietly. "In the stampede, in the confusion. Not everyone will make it."
"People are getting hurt every day in the Lower District," Sera replied. "This might save lives in the long run."
They argued about it, but they all knew there was no perfect solution. Any action would have consequences. The question was whether those consequences were worth the potential for change.
The resistance group grew slightly. Word had spread in the Lower District that something was happening, that there was hope for change. More people joined their meetings in the hidden tunnels. Not everyone supported the plan—some thought it was suicide, some thought it would make things worse. But there was a sense that something was finally happening, that the long stasis of acceptance was being broken.
Lydia provided them with the layouts of the administration building and the Council chamber. She explained the security protocols and how they could be bypassed. She introduced them to another person from the Middle District—a guard named Savas who'd become disillusioned with the system after witnessing the execution of Darius three years ago.
Savas had seen something in that execution that had changed him. He'd realized that the system he was sworn to protect was fundamentally unjust. It had taken him three years to work up the courage to do something about it, but he was ready now.
"I can get you access to the central security station," he said. "That's where the backup systems are kept. If you can get that data, you can prove that the barrier has been deliberately maintained as a tool of oppression, not as a necessary safety measure."
The plan was beginning to take shape. But there were still loose ends, still uncertainties. What would happen after the barrier was opened? How would people respond? Would it lead to the kind of systemic change they were hoping for, or would it just lead to more violence and repression?
Nobody could answer these questions. They could only trust in the process and believe that forcing people to confront the reality of the system would eventually lead to its transformation.
The night before the planned breach, Sera and Kael sat alone in one of the hidden tunnels, in the darkness where their meetings usually took place.
"I'm scared," Sera said. It was the first time she'd admitted it.
"So am I," Kael replied.
"What happens if this doesn't work? What if people don't respond the way we hope? What if the Council just uses it as an excuse to tighten control even more?"
Kael didn't have an answer. He'd thought about these possibilities. He'd spent hours thinking about worst-case scenarios, about how this could end in disaster.
But he also knew that not acting would be a slow disaster. The system would continue to grind people down, to extract life and hope and possibility until there was nothing left. At least this way, there was a chance for something different.
"Your father died for change," Kael said finally. "He died believing that things could be better. And the Council made him a martyr, which means his death planted seeds in people's minds. You're going to take the next step. You're going to force people to acknowledge the injustice they've been ignoring."
"That doesn't make me feel better about dying," Sera said.
"I know," Kael said. "But it means your death won't be meaningless. It will be part of a process. A process of awakening."
He moved closer to her. "I love you," he said. "I want you to know that, clearly, before tomorrow. Not as a romantic sentiment, though that's part of it. But as a statement of what you mean to me. You taught me that things could be different. You made me believe in the possibility of change. Whatever happens tomorrow, that's real. That matters."
Sera took his hand. "I love you too. And I'm sorry that my beliefs have brought you into this danger."
"Don't apologize," Kael said. "This is my choice. I'm choosing to stand with you because I believe in what we're doing."
They sat together in the darkness, holding hands, waiting for morning.