Chapter 159

  Kaysi

  My stomach dropped—but I forced my face to stay neutral. "Reassignment dey," I said, hoping that confidence would carry me where truth couldn't. "Lower district intake."

  The supervisor studied me for a long second. I could feel Evan tense beside me.

  "You're te. Locker rooms, then go to Sector C." He barked, already walking away. "Get dressed. You stick out like this. Then report to intake. And don't get lost—people disappear when they wander."

  "Yes, sir," I said automatically.

  Only when they were out of sight did I let myself breathe again.

  Josh leaned in. "Nice save."

  "Yeah, and I got something extra!" I said, holding up the access key card.

  "Right on!" Evan said.

  "Cover me; I am going to look for his information," I said, already scrolling through the records. I found his name, Jakeh Maxwell. That had to be him; his wife was Mary Maxwell. And the st name Maxwell was the only one in the reports.

  "We're in luck; he is in Sector C as well. However, when I tried to reassign him to homebound, it said we cked clearance at this location. I am guessing they have specific computers in the sectors, probably in a locked office, which we will need to find once we get there.

  The locker rooms looked worse than the corridors leading up to them.

  Rows of metal lines walls, dented and rusting, many left slightly open like mouths too tired to close. The smell of sweat and disinfectant burned my nose. Workers changed silently, their movements practiced and automatic.

  We found an empty row.

  Josh stripped off his jacket without hesitation, pulling on the heavy gray uniform like it was armor. Becky hesitated for only a second before doing the same after she reset her jaw, that is. Evan kept his head down, copying the motions around him perfectly. He started taking off his shirt, and I saw a scar on his upper stomach. My mind gave me the sense I knew where it was from, but I couldn't remember.

  "Bro, Evan, you put the uniform on over your clothing." Josh blinked at him.

  Evan quickly put his shirt down. His mind must have been overthinking. He was very red in the face as he zipped his uniform and started walking back to the doors.

  The uniforms were heavier than they looked. Stiff and lined with something that made my skin itch as soon as I pulled it on.

  A leash on their people, I thought.

  We blended in seamlessly.

  Once dressed, we moved again, following signs and flowing with markers painted on the floor. Each level deeper felt like stepping further into a living thing. Elevators hummed as they carried groups of workers down.

  Sector C, the sign finally lit up as we arrived. The deepest and loudest part of the pnt became—not just noise, but presence. I could feel it pressing against my senses, like it was aware of us now. Watching. Measuring.

  This is where they keep the ones who they don't want to come home, I thought.

  We passed a loading bay where men and women stood in rigid lines, faces hollow. A digital board flickered overhead, listing quotas and penalties in cold blue text.

  Late shifts were extended.

  Medical deductions applied.

  Unauthorized breaks result in reassignment.

  "This is the lowest area; reassignment to where?" Becky whispered.

  No one answered. I don't think we wanted to know.

  An older man stumbled. No one helped him up. He was dragged aside by two workers in darker uniforms and disappeared through an unmarked door.

  My stomach twisted.

  I scanned every face we passed, searching for the one I recognized from before—the way he left his family to cause no more harm or draw attention to his family anymore.

  Nothing yet, and we were also looking for the office so we could access the computers and change his assignment details so he could work from home. Still able to pay off his debt but not away from his wife, who needed him. Truly a cruel punishment for being a little te on taxes to the city. No grace was permitted in a pce such as this.

  "Stay close," I murmured. "I don't want us to get separated—"

  "We won't," Josh said quietly.

  We reached another checkpoint—this one unmanned, just a locked gate with a scanner.

  I stepped forward, heart hammering, and swiped the supervisor's card.

  Greenlight.

  The gate slid open.

  Beyond it, the air was hotter, and the hum turned into a roar. Massive turbines filled the space, spinning endlessly, devouring time and people alike. Catwalks crisscrossed above glowing pits of energy, and the workers here looked even worse—thinner, slower, with gssy eyes.

  This was it.

  Somewhere in this pce, the woman's husband was still working and still breathing. Still trapped.

  And we were officially inside.

  There would be no easy exit now.

  I tightened my grip on the access card, feeling its edges bite into the palm of my hand, and stepped forward with the others as the gate sealed shut behind us.

  The access card was warm in my hand, like it didn't belong to me.

  I slipped it into the inner pocket of the uniform and motioned for the others to follow. We moved with the current of workers along the catwalk, metal grating rattling beneath our boots. Every step felt borrowed. Every breath felt watched.

  Sector C didn't just punish bodies—it erased faces.

  We found 'him' by the way the others moved around him.

  Jakeh Maxwell worked near the turbine housing, where the heat shimmered in visible waves. Two men fed components into the machine, rotating in a rhythm that barely allowed for rest. Jakeh handled the heaviest part of it—thick coils that sparked faintly when they connected. His gloves were worn thin at the fingertips, which said this was not the first time he had been through here. One sleeve had been hastily patched.

  He didn't look up when a coil slipped.

  It struck his leg hard enough to make him stagger, and a bit of blood slowly soaked one side of his sock. Pain fshed across his face—sharp, controlled—but he caught himself before anyone could react. No sound. No compint. Just a shallow breath and back to work.

  "That's him, all right," I said quietly.

  Becky's hand drifted to her chest. "Ouch."

  Josh clenched his jaw, and Evan went still, the kind of stillness that said he was in deep thought.

  "What an unmerciful pce to work." Evan quietly growled.

  Evan may not show it much, but his care for people is boundless.

  We waited for the shift bell—a low chime that gave workers exactly thirty seconds to rotate positions. When Jakeh stepped away from the turbine, wiping sweat from his brow, I moved.

  "Jakeh Maxwell," I said under my breath as I fell into step beside him.

  His eyes flicked toward me, then away. "You shouldn't be talking," he muttered. "They watch for that."

  Jakeh stopped walking.

  That alone was dangerous.

  "I don't know you, and I have worked off and on here for some time," he said carefully. His gaze swept our uniforms and our faces, lingering just a fraction too long on Becky. Her face said it all; she was not good at hiding her feelings. "If your inspectors are te."

  "We're not," I said slowly. "And you're not in trouble."

  That finally made him look at me.

  Up close, he looked older than he had from a distance, not by years, but by the weight that settled into your bones from exhaustion.

  "Your wife is safe," I said. "She let us spend the night, but we left before the sun could rise."

  "Mary?" The words hit him harder than any arm.

  His breath hitched for a second. "You...you saw her?"

  Jakeh's composure cracked—not fully, but enough. He turned away, shoulder tight, eyes burning as he stared at the turbine housing.

  "You shouldn't be here," he said hoarsely. "If they find out you spoke to me—"

  They won't. Evan stepped forward. : We have access."

  That did it.

  Jakeh turned back, really looking at us now. "Access to what?"