Chapter no 18

Rebel (Legend, #4)

DANIEL‌

Another fitful sleep.

This time it’s a dream of my past, another series of memory fragments I’m struggling to piece together. Some of it doesn’t make sense at all—a bundle of sea daisies floating in the middle of the ocean, a lone figure struggling through a frozen tundra. But when my dream finally settles, it lands on a memory from childhood.

It’s of when I’d already been living on the streets for a year. Tess is nowhere in sight; I haven’t even met her yet. I’m still limping badly at this age, and when I finally make my way past the rooftops and stop behind a chimney near my mother’s house, I’m drenched in sweat.

My hands are bloody and raw from pulling myself up onto ledges. The hollow in my stomach feels like a cavern. All damn day, I struggled to find enough food to fill up that emptiness—but the day was difficult. No trash to be found. Guards patrolling the newly docked supply ships. I barely escaped the clutches of a street stall merchant selling pygmy-pig entrails strung on sticks. The smell was so intoxicating that I forgot myself for a moment and lingered too long. He lunged at me with a butcher knife. I got away, but not before he managed to catch me with the edge of the blade and sliced clean through my side.

I sway weakly. My hand stays pressed against my skin, but blood is still leaking out of the wound, staining everything black. I look desperately down at my mother’s home. The candles are lit inside. She’s home, and probably so are my brothers. As if on cue, I see John’s silhouette walk past the window.

They don’t know I’m alive. If I reveal myself to them, how will they react? What will the Republic do to them if they somehow make my family talk?

Another stab of pain lances its way up my side, and a soft groan escapes me. I lean my head back against the chimney and close my eyes. I

can’t stay like this. If I do, I’ll die. In the morning, someone will find my lifeless body up on the roof, and a car will come to drag me away to some unmarked mass grave.

The side door to our home swings open, and a rectangle of golden light momentarily beams across the alley. John emerges with a bag of trash. The screen door claps shut behind him as he heads down the block to toss the bag into one of the bins.

I hesitate again, blinking sweat out of my eyes. My world is spinning now, my head dizzy from the loss of blood. Still, I find myself holding back.

Another wave of nausea hits me. I grit my teeth and swear. Then I finally begin making my way painstakingly down the side of the building. My hands cling desperately to the gutter running along the wall. The cold, slick metal is tricky, and I nearly fall several times.

At last, I reach the ground and collapse with a grunt. I pull myself up laboriously, then stagger toward my house right as John starts making his way back to the door. He steps inside, turning away from me.

I open my mouth to call out for him, but I’m too weak. As the screen shuts behind him and he locks the inside door, I crawl up to the steps. One, two, three. I reach the closed door, gather the last of my strength, and knock.

For a moment, I don’t think the sound is strong enough to be heard. I wait a few seconds, listening for my brother, and then try knocking again. Still nothing.

I sink against the steps and close my eyes, savoring the cold of the stone. They might find me dead here in the morning. My mother will scream. John will furrow his brows in grief. And Eden …

Then the door suddenly opens a crack. I look up and find myself staring into the blue eyes of my older brother.

He doesn’t recognize me, at least not at first. His mouth curves down into a frown I’m all too familiar with, and for an instant, I feel like I never left home at all. I crack a feeble smile at him.

“It’s me,” I manage to croak out. My hands move aside from my wound to show him the blood soaking my shirt. “Could use some help, John.”

That’s when the realization hits him. He knows my voice, remembers the way I screamed for him when my train pulled away after I failed my Trials. His face drains of color, and his eyes widen in shock.

“Daniel?” he whispers.

But I’m too weak to answer now. I slump against the steps, trying hard to focus on them. I feel arms wrap around me and scoop me up. I shiver in the cold. Then I’m lying on a dining table lit by a flickering light, and staring up into the bewildered face of my brother.

“It’s impossible,” he’s saying over and over again. He runs a hand through his hair even as he takes a knife and cuts my shirt open. “I saw them take you away—they told us you were—you were—”

“Don’t tell Mom,” I whisper. “Don’t tell Eden.” A hoarse cry escapes from my lips as he wraps something tightly around my wounded waist. “I had no choice but to come to you. But if they know I’m here, they’ll kill all of you.”

John pauses in his work for a moment. He leans his head down toward me and rests it against my shoulder. It takes me a moment, through my delirium, to realize that he’s crying. I try to put my arm around his shoulders, tell him I’ll be all right. But even here, something cuts through my dream.

This isn’t real. Because John is dead.

I try to focus on the ceiling. It twists and morphs, and then somehow I turn into the one standing by the dining table. John isn’t here anymore— I’ve replaced him. And the figure on the table isn’t me, but Eden, a child version of him, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed, in shock as blood seeps from his chest.

I frantically try to stanch my little brother’s bleeding, but it’s no use. “Eden?” I call his name. “Eden. Look at me.” My hands are covered

with scarlet. No matter how tightly I bandage his injury, the blood continues to pour. What has he done? He’s gone to save others—as always. But now he’s dying, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I look up and scream for help.

There’s no one here, though. It’s just the two of us.

I jolt awake with a shudder. There are smooth hands on my face, but it takes me a moment to realize that they belong to June. In the darkness, I can barely make out her eyes. She’s looking at me in concern.

“Hey, hey,” she says gently. “You’re okay. You’re right here.”

My body’s drenched in sweat and trembling all over. Apparently, I collapsed on the couch and drifted off to sleep while waiting for Eden’s

message to come in, for him to tell us that he’s securely in Hann’s circle. The image of young Eden bleeding to death on the table is still fresh in my mind. I close my eyes in an attempt to blink it away, but it lingers like a stain against my eyes.

“I’m okay,” I finally whisper, nodding at June. “Just a nightmare. It’s

fine.”

From her expression, I can tell June knows instinctively that my nightmare must have been about Eden. But she doesn’t press it. Instead, she nods and looks away toward the window. The metal of her epaulettes clinks softly.

I didn’t realize she was dressed in her full uniform. Her eyes are alert, glittering in the night.

“What’s going on?” I say, gradually shaking off my dream’s fog of terror. The room comes into sharper focus. Through the window, I can see the silhouette of Ross City’s outskirts. “Eden—did we hear from him yet?”

June shakes her head, and before she even starts talking, I feel the ominous pit stretch in my stomach. “Nothing. It’s zero-three-hundred hours. He should have responded hours ago.”

No sugarcoating. There’s no use in doing it, and June knows. I fight to keep my fears at bay, but she can see it spilling out onto my expression. I sit up straighter on the couch. “Any signals at all coming from the drone Eden has? Is he still in the same location?”

June looks at me with a grave face. “Daniel, there’s no more location signal.”

No more location signal. It can only mean three things: Eden chose to remove it, for his and Pressa’s safety. The drone itself doesn’t work anymore. Or …

Hann has discovered and disabled it.

EDEN‌

My mind whirls frantically as the guard motions for us to follow him.

Hann had taken the drone. He must have.

For an instant, I think we’re done. They’ve caught us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop Hann from killing us.

In front of us, the guard gives us an impatient wave of his hand. “Hann’s waiting,” he says.

Pressa glances once at the door and mouths a single word at me. Go.

I don’t know where our surge of courage comes from. Desperation, probably.

Pressa’s hand shoots out and seizes the guard’s wrist. Before he even has time to utter a shout of surprise, she yanks him hard inside the room and shoves him against the wall.

He gasps, then snarls at Pressa as he moves to grab her throat. I strike him hard in the jaw before he can touch her.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from my brother, it’s how to throw a punch after getting jumped.

My hit lands true. The guard’s knees buckle, and everything in him goes limp as he slides slowly down to the floor.

Pressa gives me an impressed look. “Nice one,” she says.

I shrug. “The benefit of a brother who’s an AIS agent,” I reply.

We waste no time stealing out of the room and locking it behind us. Our clock is ticking now. There’s no going back. My steps quicken across the metal stairs leading to the upper levels of the building.

Here, I recognize the cavernous space that houses Hann’s construction site. Everything is cloaked halfway in shadows, as if silhouettes of guards are standing in every corner. We move slowly, startling at every stairway.

Finally, we arrive at the construction site I remember from when I’d first been held captive. The mazelike cavern full of rows of blinking machine lights is as ominous and mesmerizing as ever, the glow casting everything in

the space in a dim blue hue.

I pull Pressa down beside me before she can reach the top landing of the steps. There, we crouch in the shadows, watching the two guards standing along the metal railing leading down to the main floor.

Pressa’s gaze sweeps the endless corridors of computers, her mouth slightly open at the sight. Then she glances at me. “How do we get down there?” she whispers, emphasizing the words soundlessly.

I glance at the guards. Their eyes are turned down toward the rest of the floor space. If we can just get past them, we’ll be able to lose ourselves in the maze of halls and make our way to the control platform located at the other end of the building.

I study the railings of the steps. If Daniel were here, he’d avoid the guards altogether and shimmy down the side of this railing, dropping quietly from floor to floor until he reached the ground below. They’d never even know he was here.

Before my brother took me on his run through the Lake district, I’d have even laughed at the idea of even attempting to do this. Now, though, I find myself looking at the landing, wondering if there’s a way I could at least get us one floor lower and bypass the guards. I may not have Daniel’s agility— but maybe I could find a way with my own tricks.

I begin shrugging off my jacket. Pressa glances curiously at me.

I gesture at her jacket, telling her to do the same, and then point at the railings beside us and then at the ground below.

Pressa blinks at me. “Are you out of your mind?” she whispers.

“If you want to fight those guards, be my guest,” I whisper back. Then I slide over to the metal bars of the railing and loop my jacket through the holes. The bottom of the railing is open just wide enough for me to slide through. It’s a tight squeeze, though.

Pressa watches me go for a moment before she comes over to join me.

I lie flat on my back and push through the bottom of the railing, then lower myself gingerly, the sleeves of my jacket wrapped tightly around my left fist. I dangle over the edge, a silhouette lost in the shadows. Up above, the guards don’t move.

I let myself swing a little back and forth. Then I let go. I catch myself against the lower floor’s railings and manage to land in a soft crouch. There I stay for a second, breathless, listening for the guards above to notice and mutter to each other. Nothing.

Pressa comes shortly after me. She hangs in midair for a beat too, before

doing the same and crouching beside me. Her landing is quieter than mine, but one of her bootlaces clinks against the metal railing. The sound makes a tiny echo.

We freeze. For a second, we don’t hear anything.

Then one of the guards shifts above us. “That came from downstairs,” she says.

“Are you sure?” the second one answers. “It just sounded like the building shifting.”

“Probably.” The first guard starts to move. “I’ll take a quick look in case.” We have to move, now. I grab Pressa’s hand and we start running as quickly as we can down the walkway toward the next flight of steps. Up above, the guard’s footsteps clank loudly on the stairs. If she reaches us

before we can get to the lower floor, she’ll see us and sound the alarm.

We race on quiet feet down the flight of stairs. We make it to the ground floor just as the guard above us starts walking across the second-floor walkway. I look around. The maze of halls now stretches out all around in every direction.

“This way,” I whisper, then choose one of the halls that seems to head toward where the control platform will be. Pressa darts silently behind me.

Behind us, the guard reaches the bottom floor too. She stops there for a moment but then continues, searching for the source of the sound.

My palms are drenched in sweat. All I want in this moment is for Daniel to be here, but I push the thought away immediately. Focus on the task at hand. That’s all I can do. We make our way down the hall. Somewhere behind us, the guard begins to turn into our hall.

We reach the end of the corridor. Pressa yanks me along as she turns us sharply right, down another corridor. There we crouch, sucking in lungfuls of air.

The guard walks halfway down the hall we just came from. I get ready for us to sprint again. But then the guard halts, silently, for a moment. We wait, two tense, frozen figures.

Finally, the guard sighs and begins walking the way she came. Her footsteps grow more distant, until I hear the familiar clang of her walking back up the stairs to join her partner again.

Pressa lets out a shaky breath. I glance to our side, then pull us to our feet. “We’re not far now,” I whisper.

We race down the halls. There’s no time. Hann is probably delirious with fever right now. It’s our only chance.

The hall stretches so long, the computers on either side so endless with their blinking lights, that I start to think I’d taken us the wrong way—when finally, up ahead, I see the corridors abruptly open up.

There, ahead of us, is the circular control platform.

I skid to a halt before it. Then I reach down with trembling fingers and pull the chip from the side of my ankle. Beside me, Pressa gapes at the space.

I power the system on. The virtual circle expands out in an arc around us, followed shortly by the burst of glowing white nodes. I kneel in the circle, trying to remember how Hann had shown me to access the main system. Almost there. Pressa stands guard nearby, looking out at the corridors in anticipation of guards.

Finally, I find it. The system initiates, showing me Hann’s profile. I’m so relieved that I almost let out a shout. The chip holding the signal I created is in the palm of my hand. I touch it once, and the data on it suddenly appears to hover over my hand.

Now all I have to do is download it into the system.

But I don’t get to. Because the instant the system comes on, I hear a familiar voice behind me. It’s Pressa, but her words are tight with fear. “Eden,” she says.

Without even turning around, I can sense his presence. A chill runs down my spine as I glance over my shoulder to find Hann standing there, his gaze locked on me. He appears perfectly healthy, with a slight smile playing on his lips.

“I wondered when you’d make your move,” he remarks, his eyes shifting calmly to Pressa. “And the little doctor. You seem quite alert, miss.”

Pressa stiffens beside me, remaining silent. Hann is alluding to her lack of reaction to the mixture she administered to him. I subtly lean towards her, instinctively protective.

Hann merely smiles coolly at her expression and then focuses his attention back on me.

My heart pounds in my chest. I steal a glance at his face to discern his current state. His complexion is pale, with a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, yet he appears alert. He must have discovered Pressa’s serum in time to counteract it with an antidote or hadn’t consumed enough of it.

Behind him, a group of at least six guards stand ready, their weapons aimed at us. With a snap of Hann’s fingers, the virtual system that had surrounded me now shifts to envelop him.

“This was once part of the grid used by Ross City to store the Level system’s data,” Hann explains. “Now it’s integrated into my system.”

I anticipate him mentioning the drone he must have confiscated from me, but he remains silent. His actions seem so natural, as if he’s unaware of our plans, sending a shiver through me.

“You always wanted something greater than just disabling the Level system,” I say. “You wanted to control it for yourself.”

“Exactly,” he tells me. He waves a hand once before me—and when he does, I suddenly am able to shift the floating nodes around. “And once you start behaving yourself as part of my crew, you’ll have access to all this as you help to rebuild it for its new purpose.”

Once you start behaving yourself. Now when I look at Hann, I can see the dangerous glint in his eyes. Gone is the grieving father I once saw, the man who had lost his wife and son. This is the killer, the criminal.

“I found your clever little drone,” Hann says softly to me. “Or were you going to tell me at some point?”

I step slowly around the circle, my attention still partly fixated on the nodes. Every single one is a marker of how you level up—at least, in Hann’s new world.

“What’s the point of doing this?” I say suddenly. “Corrupting it all, destroying the Level system, and then replacing it with your own? What about everything you said against the city, that you didn’t believe in people being treated like this? Now you’re just going to do the same thing?”

Hann smiles. “Sometimes it isn’t the idea that’s corrupt, but the one operating it,” he replies. “Would you want the entire Level system deleted? You’ve seen what kind of chaos can reign in the streets without it.”

It’s almost as if he knows about the chip I planned to install into the Level system too. I hate him for the gray zone that he keeps challenging me to think in.

“Think about how many people in this city must be terrified right now, without the Level system in place,” he continues. “The Undercity’s civilians have suffered, been suppressed, and been beaten back into line by the city. Now imagine that I replace this city’s government. I return the Level system to its place—only now, it runs how I desire. The Sky Floor citizens lose their power. I hand it to the Undercity’s population. People hate chaos, you know. If you hand them back control over their lives, they will fall to their knees before you and shower you with gratitude.”

I scowl at him. “So you want the people to look up to you instead as their savior, after they’ve suffered through the chaos that you inflicted in the first place.”

Hann nods. For a second, the fatherly side of him returns, and his gaze softens. “My son, Erick, was as sharp as you are,” he says, shaking his head. “I wish you could have met him. He was such an intelligent boy, so full of potential. He was as promising as you.”

Even though I’m standing here as his captive and enemy, I can tell that when he looks at me, there’s someone else he imagines in my place.

Then the moment’s gone, and his eyes harden again. “You think I let you back in here without suspecting anything?” he says. “That you suddenly had a change of heart, that you really chose to turn your back on your brother?” He shakes his head, looking almost sad. “You really think I believed that you wanted to cure my condition?”

Pressa scowls at him. “That medication was real,” she interrupts.

“Oh, I know.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “And I appreciate your administration of it. You’ll have to forgive me for emptying the contents of my stomach afterward, though. I’ve heard those herbs will cause terrible fevers. Or were you already aware of that?”

Pressa’s jaw tightens. She opens her mouth to say something back at him

—but before she can, Dominic Hann has a gun in his hand, the shiny barrel pointed in her direction.

I move toward Pressa, but he’s too fast. He fires straight at her.

DANIEL‌

“Daniel—wait!”

I can barely hear June calling to me as I hurry out of the building’s waiting rooms and out into the main control area, yanking my jacket on as I go. The air outside is crisp and cold, and the simulated night is heavy, broken by a smattering of screens playing advertisements.

“Day.”

It’s only the sound of my street name that makes me pause long enough to turn around. June catches up to me, her hair bobbing in the wind, and grabs my arm with one hand.

“You’re not going down there alone,” she says firmly. “I have to.”

“We have no idea why Eden didn’t send his message. He could just be late for some reason, or trying to fix his device. There are a dozen possibilities. If you just go down there now, you could be blowing his cover.”

“And what if he’s in trouble?”

“Then Hann will let you know soon, without a doubt.” June crosses her arms. “You think he won’t pass up an opportunity to use Eden against you, if he figured out this whole plan?”

I hold up both hands. “That all makes sense—I get it. But if he’s preparing to use Eden against me, then we’re already too late. He’s not going to let Eden go again. And if he knows that we’re aware of what he’s doing, that we’re coming for him, he’ll be ready for us.” I shake my head. “I can’t just sit around here and wait.”

June sighs and looks away for a second. Her eyes flash in frustration. I’m reminded suddenly of the way we used to argue when the Republic was in the thick of its war, and a part of my heart twists in guilt. “You know me, yeah?” I say, taking a step closer and leaning down toward her. “You know I can do this. I’ve been at it my whole life. Let me go alone.

It’ll be easier for me to hide if I’m on my own. Stay up here and watch my back. Keep track of my location. And if you see us on our way out, tell the AIS to be ready for us.”

She turns to me now. The frustration on her face has given way to fear, and within that fear, I see the same worry I have every time she risks her life.

“Then hurry up,” she finally says, leaning toward me. Her voice is soft and steady. “We’ll be ready for you. I promise.”

I think of the night we shared, all our moments of awkwardness, the slow dance of getting to know each other again. The potential of a lifetime with June. If there’s any reason to make it back up to the surface, it’s for that—and I’ll be damned if Dominic Hann takes that chance away from me. I have lived through revolutions and war, massacres and illness. I’m going to survive this too, and so will my brother.

I bend toward her. My lips gently touch hers, and for a moment in time, we stay locked together. Then I pull away. “I’ll be back before you know it,” I say.

* * *

The cool night air bites at my cheeks. The tracker June put on me, a patch of metal at the middle of my back, feels cold against my skin. There’s a cap pulled down securely over my eyes, and a black half-mask covering the bottom of my face. As I head deeper into the quiet outskirts of Ross City, the familiar sense of being alone on the streets comes back to me. There’s something oddly comforting about it. I pull my cap lower on my head, then pick up my pace and dart through the shadows.

With the city’s system offline, I can’t bring up a map before me like I usually could. All I’m relying on is the memory of the location that June showed me on a map back at central control, the last location we’d received from Eden when he went down with Hann’s men. I won’t have anyone guiding me to where they happen to be. I’ll have to find my own way there.

Finally, I stop at an intersection nearest to where I remember the location dot was. This street corner looks abandoned, but Hann’s guards could be hiding in some building, watching for anything suspicious.

I pause in the shadows of one of the buildings, pull myself up to the second-f loor ledge, and then take out a small metal sphere from my

pocket. The AIS has a number of weapons that remind me of the Republic’s. This one is like a homemade smoke bomb, what I used to make back in Lake—except it’s much stronger, and the smoke spreads over a wider area.

I glance up at the buildings around me, looking for any telltale signs— a glint of light, the flash of a mirror—anything indicating someone lying in wait.

For a while, I don’t see anything.

Then, the slightest movement in one of the windows. Someone’s up there.

I smile a little. Then I edge along the side of the second floor until I reach a balcony. I crouch in the shadows and lift the smoke bomb. Then I fling it as far from the intersection as I can.

It clinks once as it hits the ground. Then it explodes.

Smoke bursts in every direction, filling every crevice and alley in its wake.

I turn to look back at the window where I’d seen movement. Sure enough, there’s another flicker—and an instant later, shadows shudder through the darkness on the street below me. Hann’s minions, off to check what’s happened.

I push my mask higher. When the coast seems clear, I drop back down to the first floor without a sound and dart toward the last building, where the location marker had been.

The space looks like a factory sitting on the edge of the city. It’s enormous. Its exterior is almost completely solid, except for a row of glass windows wrapping around the very top of the building, reflecting the lights of the city.

Behind me, the guards’ shouts are already starting to echo in my direction. They’re heading back. I rush to the building and scan it for any easy entryways. Everything looks locked down, though. My eyes turn skyward to the glass windows again. Then I step onto the hinges of a metal gutter and start pulling myself up the wall.

I’m making my way to the third floor by the time two of the guards return to their stations. They’re clearly agitated, their voices sharp and harsh. No doubt someone has already alerted Hann about the smoke bomb. But there’s no time to dwell on what they might do next. If Eden’s not contacting us, he’s already in trouble.

I freeze on the fourth floor, right below the glass windows, as one of

the guards shines a flashlight in my general direction. The sweeping light barely misses me. Sweat drips down my brow. If I can just leap up to grab the window ledge, I can pull myself up out of his angle. As he steps closer below, I edge around the side of the wall until I’ve turned the corner. Then I jump and stretch out my arm, seeking the ledge.

I catch it. With all my strength, I pull myself up and shove the window slightly. It slides open by a sliver.

Inside the building, dim light filters through the glass to illuminate a seemingly endless maze of computers. Their blue sensors blink in unison.

This is the construction site that I’d glimpsed when I was first captured.

An instant later, I notice a circular platform in the center of it all. The disc of metal on the floor glows with a faint light, and virtual holograms

—a web of white nodes—hover over it.

I take one last look over my shoulder, toward the guards approaching the outside of the building below. Then I swing inside the building, pull the window shut behind me, and lower myself carefully into the shadows that slant against the wall. There I cling, barely gripping the hand- and footholds I can find.

A noise from the center of the space makes me turn in its direction. Three figures silhouetted by the light have stepped onto the circular platform. When I recognize them, my chest tightens into a knot.

It’s Eden and Pressa, their bodies turned to face a man who is unmistakably Hann. Guards are already approaching them from the shadows of the halls.

They’ve been caught.

EDEN‌

Pressa jerks back with a gasp of shock. Blood sprays the floor as the bullet hits her hard in her left shoulder. She falls to her knees.

I’m stepping in front of her before I realize what I’m doing. “You know I was the one behind all this,” I snap at Hann. The iron smell of blood penetrates the air. Behind me, Pressa bites back a choked cry.

Hann doesn’t look moved at all. Instead, he aims his gun toward Pressa’s leg. “You can keep talking while I work,” he says. “I’ll let you know when it’s your turn.”

He readies to fire again. I lunge between them. “Wait!” I shout out, holding my hands up. “Please! Wait a second. I—”

But he’s no longer interested in talking. He shifts his gun slightly, aiming instead at her left arm.

My mind spins frantically. “Let her go, and I’ll do whatever you want. Use me as ransom, kill me, anything.”

He gives me a cool look. “I already plan on ransoming you out,” he replies with a shrug.

“And what would your son think of all this?” I demand.

“He would think you’re stalling me for time,” Hann says. There’s no sympathy in his eyes now, nothing but a low-burning fire at the audacity I have for bringing up his family. He points his gun at Pressa’s head this time. I stand in front of her, but it’s a helpless gesture.

“Is this what you imagined for yourself, if your son and your wife were alive?” I finally snap. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever suffered? You think this is the solution to everything that’s gone wrong for you?”

This time, a flash of anger darts across his features. He shifts his gun so that it’s now pointing at me instead. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Because they’re gone. And that’s the last time you will mention my family to me again.”

A surge of adrenaline floods my veins. He’s going to shoot me. I think of

my own family—of my brother, all I have left, waiting alone for my signal. There’s no way I’m going to let this man kill me here. I’m walking out alive, one way or another.

As if something in the universe has aligned at my thought, I’m compelled to look behind Hann, toward the glass windows lining the top of the building. There, silhouetted against the shadows, is the shape of a young man crouched on top of one of the towering computer shelves.

Daniel is here.

It’s all I need to see.

I suddenly lunge toward Hann.

He doesn’t expect me to do this—all he’s known of me is the awkward brother, the shy one, the one who still has to wear glasses in the dark. I duck low as I reach him. Before he can fire at me, I barrel into his legs and throw him off balance. Remember what Daniel taught you. The words flow through me like a current of electricity. In one move, I seize the gun from his hand and hold it up to his temple.

His guards all still at the sight.

“Back away from her!” I shout at them as I nod toward Pressa’s kneeling figure. “Drop your weapons!”

In my grasp, Hann laughs. Only now can I tell that he’s noticeably weaker than I remember him from the last time I saw him. Either he didn’t avoid Pressa’s serum as well as he claimed, or his illness has worsened significantly. Perhaps it’s both.

“Well,” he says. “Thank goodness you’ve got some surprises left in you.”

A sharp elbow strikes me hard in the chin. Stars burst in my vision—I’m forced to release him. He still moves faster than I can. He whirls around, seizes my arm, and locks it into a hold. I barely manage to twist out of his grasp, but he knocks the gun from my hand. It clatters to the floor.

He reaches down for it. In the same moment, I take the chip and swipe all its data onto the platform’s system.

The entire web of nodes flashes in a ripple of scarlet. I allow myself a grim, satisfied smile. Hann’s system shudders, corrupted, then deletes. Almost immediately, I see virtual markers reappear over Pressa’s head, over Dominic Hann himself, over his guards—the city’s original system has reset.

This is the only thing that buys me some time. Dominic Hann freezes, shocked at the sight of his system undone. I don’t wait for his reaction beyond that. I’m already sprinting toward Pressa, who has managed to struggle to her feet. In the chaos of the moment, I grab her hand and yank her forward with

me. I chance a single glance over my shoulder.

Daniel’s no longer where he was crouched by the window. If he’s here, then he might have already alerted the AIS as to where we are. The troops should be arriving soon. Hann’s eyes are trained on me now, and the fury in them sends a wave of terror through me. I turn around and run faster.

“Hang in there,” I say breathlessly to Pressa.

She just clenches her jaw and fights to keep pace with me. “I’ve had worse,” she replies.

A bullet pings behind us. I duck instinctively as we round a corner of one hall. Behind us come the shouts of Hann’s guards. I stoop for a second, frantically gathering my thoughts. We have to hold out until the reinforcements arrive.

Suddenly, a popping sound comes from the ceiling. I glance up to see artificial misters all turn on in unison, filling the space with a thick fog. It’s the building’s original fire retardant, meant to put out fires in this maze of computers without damaging the systems with water. The mist is so dense that it settles onto us like a blanket. I can barely see Pressa beside me. Around us, the guards shout in frustration. An alarm begins to blare.

I smile a little. Daniel must have set it off.

Pressa taps me. In the thick fog, an emergency light has turned on, its searing green light cutting through the veil of mist at the far end of the building. “An exit,” she whispers to me.

I nod. “Come on,” I urge, taking her hand again. Where’s Daniel? Can he see us through all this?

We dash through the gray mist, keeping our hands out against the computers to guide us. I feel a surge of panic at how blind we are—the murky surroundings, the shouts in the air—it all reminds me of the Colonies’ final attack. Of my stumbling through the mist, calling out my brother’s name. My heart pounds against my chest. I force it down, trying to tell myself that I’m not back there.

Another bullet sparks against a computer near us. We both cringe, falling to our knees. They’re getting closer to us.

Then suddenly—I hear a startled yell, followed by a sharp crack that must be to someone’s head. Daniel. Had they gotten him? I look behind us, trying to see through the fog, but can’t make anything out. Another loud crack, followed by a scuffle.

Then, out of the mist, materializes a familiar face covered in a black half- mask and a cap. My brother’s blue eyes meet ours.

“They’re on their way,” he says to me before he bends down and helps me hoist Pressa back onto her feet. She hisses in pain.

It’s all I can do to not break down in front of Daniel. He’s here. He’s come for me. I start to say something back, but a ripple of gunfire behind us forces all of us to drop again to our knees. The bullets ping hard against the computers.

“They’re coming from the side,” Daniel says to us in a rush. “They’re cutting us off from the exit.”

“Where do we go?” Pressa gasps out.

Daniel glances up, where a lattice of steps snakes upward onto a metal walkway. “Up,” he replies. “We’re going to draw them away from you. Make a run for it. Do you understand?”

She looks ready to argue, but Daniel’s eyes are the color of steel. She decides against it, then folds her lips into a grim line and nods.

Daniel looks at me. “Remember our climb?” he asks. I nod without a word.

“Good.” With one leap, he pulls himself onto the top of the computer shelves, then reaches down for me with a hand. “Then let’s go.”

I take his hand and haul myself up. Down below, Pressa crouches, facing the direction of the exit. Daniel glances toward where the shadows of guards can be seen darting through the fog. He nods at me and forms a foothold with his hands.

I take a few steps, then step up with his help and reach for the first stair railing I can. My fingers close around one of the metal banisters. I haul myself up. As I go, Daniel comes beside me, moving easily through the fog.

Bullets spark below us. I hope they’re not aiming for Pressa. She’s already invisible to me in the mist.

I pull myself over the first railing and hop up for the next one. Daniel’s up before me and reaching down to help me. I climb up and over the second stair railing. Now we can look out at the shrouded warehouse. Above us is the walkway that leads along the top of the building before curving back down toward the exit.

We’re almost there. On the other side, beyond the exit door, is the Antarctican army. June.

“Come on,” Daniel urges me. We rush up the last flight of stairs until we reach the edge of the walkway suspended above the rest of the building.

That’s where I freeze.

Standing at the other end of the walkway is Dominic Hann. He must have

seen where we were headed, even through the fog—he knew we were heading for that exit. Now he’s blocking our way. His eyes glint dark and furious through the haze.

Behind us, I hear the clatter of his guards’ footsteps on the lowest staircase. We’re trapped.

Daniel’s arm shoots out to protect me. “Stay back,” he whispers, his gaze locked on Hann.

“No,” I reply. This has always been my fight, the beginning of my haunted trips down here to the Undercity, the struggle to understand who I am. So I push my brother’s arm away and shake my head. When he resists, I turn to look him directly in the eyes. “I can do this.”

Something about my expression seems to click with him. He searches my face, hesitating, and then forces himself to take a step back. “Fair enough,” he says. “But hell if I’ll let you go alone.”

A small smile touches the edge of my mouth. “Never said I didn’t want your help,” I reply.

Hann walks toward us. A red light—probably turned on with the alarm— has started sweeping across the building, and it washes the man in scarlet, as if he were drenched in blood. His lips curl into a snarl.

“Where do you think you’ll end up?” he calls out to me. Even now, in his anguish, his voice is smooth and deep. “Where do you think that exit leads to?”

“A place you don’t control,” I answer.

He laughs bitterly. “Does it make a difference? You’ll be under the thumb of someone else. And I could have shown you something so much better.”

He draws something in his hand—a glint of metal flashes in the fog. Then he lunges for me.

He’s so fast that I barely have time to throw myself to the floor of the walkway. Daniel leaps up onto the railing with a single jump, spins, and ends up on Hann’s other side. But the man keeps coming. He swipes at me once, twice. I scramble backward. As the blade flashes again in the light, I kick my leg up. My boot catches his hand. It’s not enough to make him drop the knife, but it stops him long enough for me to get up and throw myself at him.

He stumbles backward. I twist around in his arms before he can stab at me with the knife, then force his wrist to one side. Behind him, Daniel shoots out a leg and trips the man. He goes down, taking me with him.

But he’s back on his feet in an instant. Another dagger appears in his other hand. He strikes at my brother. Daniel arcs backward—but one of the blades

catches him on his shirt and slices clean through. Daniel winces. A touch of red stains the fabric.

Everything around me fades at the sight. My teeth clench. The muscles in my arms tense.

“You asked me if I thought this was the solution for everything gone wrong in my life,” Hann calls out. He strikes at me and I jump backward. The guards are making their way up the stairs behind me—they’ll be here any moment now. “Nothing can fix the past, Eden. Don’t you know that by now? Where is your mother? Your brother?”

I lunge at him again. This time, in my rage, I kick out at his hand and manage to knock one of the knives from his grasp. It clatters to the walkway floor. He’s starting to tire. Beads of sweat line his brow.

“This isn’t about fixing the past!” I shout back. “It’s about repairing the future! And all you’re doing is—”

“—making it better!” Hann finishes, striking at me again. His knife slashes through my sleeve. I feel the bite of the blade as I duck low, seeking the knife he’d dropped. Daniel, still clutching his chest, whirls around to face the first guard that reaches the end of the walkway. He dodges a blow from the man and kicks him hard against the railing.

Hann is breathing heavily now. I can hear the rasp of his lungs. “Do you think the city is going to change what they’re doing? Now that you’ve erased our chances of fixing things—do you think the city will do what’s right? That they’ll listen to you?” He nods down toward the exit. “Think your young friend will get to do anything other than go back to suffering in the Undercity?”

Even now, even here, his words have a way of seeping into me. I remember the way he shot Pressa, that he would have put a bullet through her head if I hadn’t stepped in. “The city wasn’t the one who tried to kill her,” I snap, and throw another punch at him. “Or who killed her father.”

He dodges my blow and hits back, hard. His fist catches me on my jaw. Stars burst in my vision. I collapse onto the walkway. Somewhere in the distance comes a shout from Daniel. And—am I hearing it right? A shout from outside the building, through a megaphone. A searingly bright light shines into the warehouse through the glass windows. The AIS has arrived.

Then a boot kicks me hard in the stomach. Pain lances through me. I gasp, curling into a ball.

“You think she’s better off living?” Hann’s voice is hoarse with anger now, as if he’s no longer talking about Pressa, but about someone else. “So that she

can struggle to get by, day after day, on her rigged Level? You think you’ll keep in touch with her after your elite internship? You’ll return to your life in the Sky Floors while she gets to crumple a little more with each passing year.” He seizes me by my collar and drags me up. My face is so close to him that I can see the film of tears against his eyes. “I see all this because I’ve seen it before. Call me whatever you want. I’m not the villain you seek.”

“You’re right,” I spit back in his face. And I’m telling the truth. He’s not. “But you’ve got your eyes set on the wrong villain too.” I lunge up with my boots and kick him as hard as I can. He releases me. “If you have to sell your soul in your quest to make things better,” I say through gritted teeth, “then you’ll never succeed.”

He slams me back against the railing. Behind him, I glimpse Daniel leaping over the side of the banister and swinging out of the grasp of one of the guards. There are more and more of them now.

Hann stares me dead in the eyes. “Be their puppet, then,” he snarls. “Let them animate your broken limbs.” Then he grabs me and shoves me over the side of the balcony.

Daniel shrieks my name. As I fall, I grapple for a handhold and barely manage to cling to the side of the railing, trying not to tumble down three floors.

Below, the exit finally bursts open. A swarm of shouts suddenly echoes through the space. The troops. The agents. Their guns are held up, pointing at us.

I struggle to hang on. Above me, Hann gets ready to dislodge my grip and send me falling.

I stare up at him with a look not of anger but of grim determination. “This isn’t what they would’ve wanted,” I say to him.

Then I twist up. Daniel’s lesson comes to me in a flash. I swing to one side, grasp the banister with my other hand, and then use my momentum to kick high enough for my boot to grip the railing where my hands are. I shimmy up with a final burst of strength.

I don’t know if what I said made Hann hesitate for an instant. Maybe the faces of his lost family appeared to him. Maybe what froze him for that fraction of a second was the thought of those he’d once loved.

Whatever the reason, Hann doesn’t get a chance to strike me down before I swing over the railing’s edge.

My boots connect directly with his chest. The force of the impact sends him careening backward. He stumbles, hits the railing, and flips over it. For

an instant, it looks like he might catch himself. But then he tumbles over.

I have a sudden instinct to catch him and pull him back. A surge of panic rushes through me. But it’s too late now. For a moment, he looks like he’s frozen in a state of falling. Then he hits the shelves below and crumples to the floor.

Agents swarm around his body, their guns all pointed down at him. Hann’s guards have already backed away from Daniel—their hands are up, their weapons on the ground as soldiers head up to our walkway. Among them, I see a young woman with a lean figure, her shoulder-length hair swinging as she races up the steps toward us. June.

I sink to my knees. I look at my brother, who staggers toward me, still bleeding from his chest. He crouches down beside me with a weary look. We’re both bruised and battered, but we’re alive. How long ago it seemed that Pressa and I joined in on the drone races, when I couldn’t bear to stay away from the Undercity, where I could still see echoes of my past. Maybe not much has changed since then. Tonight, after I go to bed, will I still be haunted by my nightmares? Will I see Pressa crumpling to the ground, bleeding—will Hann’s final gaze lock on to mine as he falls from the railings?

I don’t know if he’s dead. I still don’t even know if he was entirely wrong. Daniel puts his hand on my neck. The sudden surge of adrenaline is waning now, and we lean against each other in exhaustion. Our lives have always been a war. Maybe that war won’t ever be over. But at the end of it all,

we still have each other. It’s this thought that keeps me whole.

As Antarctican soldiers approach us, I pull back to give my brother a tired smile. “Still here,” I say.

He smiles back. “Still here,” he echoes. “And not leaving anytime soon.”

DANIEL‌

June tells us that Dominic Hann ultimately survived his injuries. I can tell you from personal experience that it’s possible to live through a four- story fall if you know what you’re doing and learn how to land right. Hann’s not the kind of man you kill easily. But his days of terrorizing Ross City have come to an end. He won’t be leaving prison anytime soon, not with the level of security they have on him.

It doesn’t mean things in Ross City have been resolved.

Eden and I get the update as we sit at the hospital, where doctors are tending to our injuries. My brother hasn’t said much since we were escorted from the outskirts and brought back to the center of the city. Already, most of the Level system has been restored, and with it, everything else: signs hovering over the buildings, virtual banks and stores, the elevators that restrict people to the floors where their Levels allow them to go. It’s all back up and running, as if nothing happened.

Almost as if.

Now I sit in the waiting area alone, looking out at Ross City while Eden is visiting Pressa in her hospital room. From here, I’m so high up that I can’t make out the Undercity. Before everything happened with Hann, I’d let myself believe I was relieved to not have to see the troubles down there all the time. Now I feel uneasy that it’s invisible from this vantage point.

Eden’s past arguments with me echo in my mind. How had I let myself become so far removed from that world? Why had it taken everything falling apart here for me to understand what Eden had been trying to tell me for years?

I look down at my hands and trace the faint scars here and there. Old scratches from my days running buildings. Cuts from the fights I used to get into. They are memories of a past I thought I wanted nothing to do with anymore. After all, Hann had been consumed by his past, had let it

twist him further and further until he withered away into nothing but rage.

But I can’t just pretend that my past never happened, either. The comfort of not remembering is an artificial thing. I rub my hands together, then sigh and lean against my knees. The scars are still there, long since healed over.

“Hey.”

I shift instinctively at the touch of her hand on my arm. It’s June. Today she’s not in her formal military uniform, but in a breezy collar shirt tied casually at her waist, her hair pulled loosely back into a low, messy braid. She smiles at me, then takes a seat beside me.

“I head back to the Republic tomorrow,” she says.

I try to keep the disappointment from my face. “So soon,” I reply.

Her expression wavers. “Anden’s currently talking to your President, figuring out the details of us resuming our trade routes.” There’s a slight pause as she glances at me. Loose strands of her hair fall from her braid, and I pull back the urge to tuck them behind her ear. “I heard the Level system is back in place.”

She says it with a question hanging at the end. I don’t answer right away, either. I nod out toward the city. “More or less,” I reply.

Except it isn’t really the same. Eden’s chip installed something else onto the system, a few alterations to what it had once been. June knows it too, and when I meet her gaze again, she doesn’t seem surprised.

“I hear there’s a protest planned in the Undercity tomorrow,” she says.

In the old Level system, a protest would have been too hard for Undercity citizens, those with lowly, single-digit Levels, to participate. The penalty for going against the government is having your Levels halved, and your future Leveling severely punished.

But with Eden’s new chip and our alterations, that won’t be the case any longer. Across Ross City, people will gradually find out that they won’t be penalized for protesting. Or marching. They won’t be punished for doing what Pressa had been doing for her father—trying to transfer her own points to help him reach a Level where he could buy the medications he needed. There are a dozen differences we’d secretly implemented onto the Level system.

Whether or not the city will let it all stay in place, though, is another question. I’m going to have to explain it all before the AIS.

“When are you going to let them know what you did?” June says after a while.

“They want to see us this afternoon, as soon as Eden and I are out of this hospital.” I clear my throat.

She nods. “If you need me to vouch for anything…”

I smile at her, then reach over to touch her hand. “I know,” I reply.

Her hand lingers, holding gently on to mine. “We can’t save the world,” she says softly.

“But we still try anyway,” I say. “One day at a time.”

Her hand squeezes tighter. I wonder if we’d ever had this kind of ease around each other, where we could show our love for one another without a dark cloud perpetually hanging over our heads. It’s a strange new feeling, this freedom.

“Eden’s internship at Batalla starts soon,” I say. “I’ll be headed your way.”

She smiles. “Are you ready?”

I don’t think so. Maybe I never will be. Still, my heartbeat quickens at the thought of being back in the same country with her, and I look away, suddenly nervous. “I’ve never belonged here,” I say instead. “Maybe the Republic has always been my home. It’s about time, yeah? It just took Eden giving me the nudge to do it.”

A glint of disappointment f lits across June’s expression, and I can only hope I know why.

I keep my hand around hers and pull her toward me. Then I kiss her, our lips barely touching, as tenderly as I can.

“My home is where you are,” I murmur.

Her expression softens, and she leans against me, her body warm. It feels, as always, right.

“Come home soon, then,” she whispers back.

When the AIS sends for us, they call for us both. Eden and me. We find ourselves standing in the center of a circle on the top floor of the AIS headquarters, surrounded by an arc of politicians and agency directors.

It’s not just the AIS we’re answering to. It’s the President and his council as well. The whole thing looks like a goddy trial.

Beside me, Eden is calm, his face steady and chin up. I look for signs of his usual anxieties—his hands wringing, his jaw tight, his back stiff.

But he’s not doing any of that today.

President Ikari frowns at our calm state. He leans forward on his elevated dais and weaves his fingers together. His eyes fix on me. “Four days ago, the man known as Dominic Hann corrupted the Level system and led a riot that left Ross City on fire and in ruins. As I understand from what Director Min has told me, you and your brother acted on your own discretion to stop what he was doing. Is this all correct?”

Eden nods. “Yes, sir.” “Yes, sir,” I echo him.

President Ikari frowns. “I’ve been informed, however, that instead of restoring the Level system to what it once was, you’ve altered other parts of the system to suit yourself. Have you done this, Mr. Daniel Altan Wing?”

“It was me, sir,” Eden speaks up first. “I implemented the new system when I deleted Dominic Hann’s hack.”

Everyone shifts in their chairs. A chorus of murmurs fills the chamber. I glance quickly to where Director Min is sitting. She nods quietly at us to continue. Whether or not she’ll stand up for us, I’m still not sure, but I return an imperceptible nod to her and look back at the President.

President Ikari sighs. “And why would you do such a thing?” he says. Eden hesitates. In the silence, I take over.

“Because sometimes, sir, the only way to make your government listen is to force them to,” I say.

There’s another round of whispers and gasps. I’m reminded of the Republic’s Senate, of when June had once been so unhappy trying to maneuver through their ranks. It’s a special kind of hell, speaking frankly in a system that doesn’t reward honesty at all.

“With all due respect, President Ikari,” I go on, “I know what it’s like to live in a place where people have no choices. What happens in a world like that, when you’re unable to speak out against something you think is wrong?”

Ikari frowns at me. “Are you trying to compare Antarctica to the Republic of America, Mr. Wing?”

I hold my hands up. “I know how different the two are. But the Republic was founded on a system of fear. People allowed the first Elector to come to power because they were afraid of everything and everyone else. They turned in on themselves, closed their borders, and

gave up their freedoms in exchange for security. And then, one day, we woke up realizing that we’d handed over so much that we’d given ourselves up too. I know what that feels like all too well. It’s part of the reason why we left the Republic to come here in the first place.”

I’m not sure if my words are sinking in with the council, but hearing what the Republic did wrong seems to make them sit up straighter. As if they know that their country is better. The President studies me for a moment, then nods at Eden. “You’re the top student of Ross City. Why don’t you tell us your thinking behind all this, and whether or not you align with your brother?”

I think of the way Eden always left early for university in the mornings—with that tense look on his face, bracing himself for another difficult day. But he doesn’t hesitate now. He just looks the President square in the eye and answers.

“Antarctica was founded on the principle of innovation. Wasn’t it?” He looks around at the council, and to my satisfaction, they look happy with his words. Eden knows how to play this game, too. “I learned it when I came here for school. You teach it to all your citizens. This country was built on the idea of progress and experimentation. All of this

—the Levels, the biodome—came from young people who created big, bold, new things that took the world by storm. So many came here in the hopes that this would be where they could find the freedom to be who they wanted to be. They flocked to this unknown, barren land because they were excited by what it could become. They were dazzled by the brilliant and the frightening, the technology that was changing things day by day here. That’s how Antarctica became what it is today. It’s still so young, barely a country, and yet it holds so much power.”

He shakes his head and points out at the windows, where the glass separates us from the sky beyond. “This isn’t the Antarctica of the past anymore. Ross City no longer rewards the very principles it was founded on. It’s a place where people are forced to conform to what this council thinks is right or wrong. They can’t speak up about their frustrations and hardships. The Level system was supposed to be a system that encouraged good behavior and success. Now it’s just a system that holds half of the city’s population back. There’s no hope for people in the Undercity. How can there be?”

“So you took it upon yourself to change what you thought was wrong.” The President narrows his eyes at my brother.

Eden takes a deep breath. “So I made some adjustments,” he says with a slight shrug. In that gesture, I recognize a glimmer of myself. “Isn’t that how all change happens? Someone just has to do it first?”

The head of the police unit snorts at his words and looks at the President. “The boy put in a stop to Levels deducted for rioting against the government. There’s already a march scheduled for dawn tomorrow. They halted points associated with health care and welfare. They’ve altered points deducted for crimes.”

“For crimes of what?” Eden interrupts. “Not having a home? Taking away their Levels if they can’t afford something? Let people protest without punishment. Let them have a chance to help their families. Let people struggling in the lowest floors of the city know that you still care about them, too.”

The President’s stare on Eden is ice-cold. “What you’ve done is the height of arrogance, boy.”

“Maybe.” He steps forward this time. “But it’s because I care. Because, sometimes, being patriotic means calling out the problems rotting away your country. I’m not saying we don’t want to work with you. But we represent millions of voices you’re not hearing right now. If you want to preserve the spirit of what made Antarctica a world leader to begin with, you should take a look at your blind spots.”

Murmurs rumble among the council members. I look over to Eden. He’s pale, and frightened, but he stands his ground with his fists clenched at his sides, and all I can think about is the memory that comes to me now—the moment he had volunteered himself, without hesitation, to help the Republic find a cure for the plague. I think of the determined light in his eyes, the resolve he’d had to save a country that had taken everything from him. I think of his plans now for the Republic, his architectural suggestions for what to do with the old Trial stadiums and the old military halls.

No matter the demons that haunt him, he has still remained a light. And I find myself feeling prouder of him in this moment than I ever have. When he glances at me, searching for approval, I give him a nod and a smile.

“You will stay in Ross City,” the President finally says. The murmurs around him die down. “Until we have decided the appropriate course of punishment for you both for your actions. The Level system will be reset to its original state.”

I never expected the city to approve of what we’d done. Neither had Eden. But even now, as the President speaks, I see some uncomfortable shifting around the room. There isn’t unanimous agreement on this.

President Ikari sighs, then continues. “Meanwhile, I will also convene a special council to discuss possible solutions to some of what you have brought up. You’ll be notified if your services are needed again.”

It’s not much. Change never happens quickly, anyway. But something in his tone lifts a burden off my chest, and I exchange a look with my brother. He had done this. However things go in the future here, he was the one who planted the seed.

I half expect Eden to hesitate when he speaks again. But he doesn’t. His voice is clear, and his shoulders are straight. He bows his head slightly at the President, as if this is something he’s used to doing every day.

“Of course, sir,” he says.

EDEN‌

Our final sentence comes a week later.

Two counts each of insubordination—one for heading back to Ross City without notifying anyone, and the second for installing changes onto the original Level system. Our own Levels are halved. Daniel is released from the AIS.

Prison time, however, is pardoned by the President himself. He has permitted us to return to the Republic on schedule, in time for my internship with Batalla Hall. Returning to Antarctica at any time will require his personal consent.

It all works out in the end. I think our time in Antarctica has come to a close.

* * *

A month later, on our last day in Ross City, I head back to the Undercity. My system is tracking my every movement now—Daniel knows exactly where I’m going, as does the entire government. But I’d gotten permission for today. Today is when I’m seeing Pressa, who has been released from the hospital for her shoulder injury.

Things already look different by the time I arrive in the Undercity. The street’s still grungy, of course, the tightly packed stands still billowing smoke from their grills, the half-working neon signs still hanging over the crammed storefronts. There are still zero-level folks huddled against the walls, trying to sleep in the midst of all the bustle.

But I also see a newly appointed task force at work. President Ikari had kept his word, at least—people with blue armbands are surveying Undercity civilians, interviewing them and listening to their grievances. Here and there, I see scattered groups of people gathered to hear someone giving a speech, or pockets of protesters waving signs in the air. The Levels hovering over their heads aren’t being deducted for their protesting.

The shop that Pressa’s father owned is still being repaired. One of their neighbors is nailing a new windowpane in, while two others are hoisting a new neon sign over the store. I pause to smile at the sight.

Pressa is standing outside the shop and calling directions up at the two working on the sign. Her left arm’s still in a cast, but she seems like she’s moving around pretty easily with it as she directs them.

When she sees me, she pauses to pat me on the shoulder. “Glad you came by today,” she says.

“Glad to see you smiling,” I reply, and she grins that familiar little grin of hers, leaning subtly against my shoulder as she does. It sends a warm current through my chest.

“I brought you something,” I tell her, then reach into my backpack and take out a frame encasing a delicate arrangement of dried flowers. It’s the first time I’ve ever given her something like this, and I blush as I hold it up for her. “I thought it might look nice in your father’s shop, you know, herbs and everything.”

Pressa holds the frame before her with a look of wonder. Her eyes shine with moisture. “Oh, Eden,” she breathes, tapping a finger gently against the glass. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

I beam, feeling my heart lift at her words. Then I reach into my pocket and take out a fresh flower, a small yellow bud that I hadn’t pressed into the frame. “And one for you,” I add, tucking it neatly behind her ear.

She looks up at me with a smile that brightens everything around us. She seems happier than the last time I saw her—and even though the death of her father still haunts her eyes, there’s also a sense of purpose there, that she can still find him if she preserves her father’s store here. I smile at her, taking in her beauty, and feel the sharp stab of leaving her behind.

I clear my throat and try not to think about it. “How’s Marren doing, managing the store?” I ask her.

“Good,” she says, squinting inside the shop’s windows, where her father’s assistant is now leaning over the counter and measuring out several spoonfuls of herbs for a customer. “You should’ve seen him the first few days. He was running around like a headless chicken. But I think he’s settled into a groove.”

We look on as Marren searches the shelves in vain, scratching his head as he tries to figure out where he has stocked all the new medicine the shop now carries. I can’t help laughing a little.

“Good groove,” I say.

Pressa smiles. “He’s always had it.”

Daniel, in his final AIS act, spoke up for Mr. Yu’s shop. Director Min legalized it after the city ran an inspection, giving it a permit to sell the higher-quality medications that had previously only been available to the Sky Floors. Without the fear of arrest hanging over everyone’s head, and with the new medicines, people have been flocking here from all over the Undercity. The shop’s bigger than it used to be, too, thanks to the compensation package that the city gave them for their reconstruction.

It doesn’t fix everything wrong with the system down here, of course— there are still too many others who can’t afford the luxury of healthcare. But at least the memory of her father will be preserved here.

Now Pressa looks at me. “You got a haircut,” she replies, running a hand playfully through my newly trimmed locks. “All set to make an impression in the Republic, aren’t you?”

She’s trying her best to cover up the strain in her voice, but I can hear it. It mirrors my own reluctance to leave. I run a hand absently through my curls and try to smile at her. “We’ll see about an impression,” I reply. “They’re starting me as early as next week.”

She shuffles her feet and glances down at the framed f lowers, then back to me. “Are you nervous?”

“After what we went through? Nah, I’m feeling pretty calm.” I hesitate. “I’m going to miss you, though.”

She winces at my words, and it’s all I can do to not wrap my arms around her right now and pull her into a kiss. “You have to leave so soon?”

I nod.

We both fall into an awkward silence. “Thank you,” Pressa finally says. “For putting in a good word for my father’s shop and making sure the community stays intact.”

“What are you going to do here?” I ask her. “Now that you’ve got Marren running the store?”

She shrugs, looking uncertainly around at the Undercity’s streets. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out,” she answers with a shrug. There is something lost in her gaze. “They said I can apply to the university, even with my Level. They might give me a scholarship. But…”

“But?” I ask.

She looks at me, and then down. “I don’t know.” And in her gaze, I see that same restlessness I’ve always felt, the feeling of not fitting in, the same need to do something bigger, to find myself in this strange world. The same thing that drew us together as friends from the beginning. “I’m ready to leave

the Undercity,” she finally says. “I just don’t know where to go next.” “Come with me,” I say.

The words spill out of my mouth without warning. Pressa looks at me in surprise.

“Come … with you?” she murmurs.

I hadn’t thought any of that through at all. But when I speak again, I find myself taking her by her hands and pulling her closer. “Come with me,” I repeat, my voice more eager this time. It’s so obvious now. “You’ve always said you never felt like you belonged in the Undercity—like there was an adventure out there, waiting for you to make it happen. Come to Los Angeles, to the Republic. Please. You could change everything there for the better. You could do everything you’ve ever wanted to do. And I could be there with you, we could…”

I trail off, too shy to ask her to be with me. But I can see the spark lighting in Pressa’s eyes, that addictive sense of life in her that I’d always admired. Her lips curve up. This is the adventure that had been waiting for her.

“Okay,” she says quietly, as if to herself, and then breaks into a wide grin. “Okay!”

Then she throws her uninjured arm around me without warning, hand still clutching the framed flowers, and I find myself hugging her in return, and we’re both laughing at the awkward angle of her one-armed embrace. She feels so good in my arms that I can’t imagine ever letting go.

On an impulse, I kiss her.

She leans into me and kisses me back, fully and firmly. It’s the most perfect kiss in the world. I hug her tight. Somewhere around us, I hear whistles, then the workers on the ladder teasing us gently before bursting into friendly laughter. I don’t move away. I just keep my arms around Pressa, holding her tight, feeling sure of our future for the first time, feeling happier than I’ve been in a long time.

The world shifts, tilts, sometimes collapses. But sometimes, it bends toward you, and everything feels right.

* * *

By the time I return home that night, our apartment’s already filled with packing boxes. Daniel is walking around in a restless state, double-checking our things and making sure everything is put away.

When he sees me, he straightens and tries to hide his anxiety. “Are you ready to go back tomorrow?” he asks me instead.

I walk over to our couch and plop down on it one last time. “Ready enough,” I reply as he comes over to join me.

Immediately, he smiles. “What?” I say.

“Something really good happened to you,” he says, studying my face. “It’s Pressa, yeah?”

I laugh a little. How good it feels to have a brother who can read my emotions again, who knows me. I nod. “Pressa’s going to come to the Republic too. She’s figuring out all the logistics for herself now.”

Daniel grins at that and nudges my shoulder. “Good,” he says. “I always thought she was meant for more than the Undercity. Glad you’ll have each other.”

My eyes settle on a small, square box in one of his pockets. “What’s that?” I ask.

He hesitates, and his smile wavers. He leans his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. “It’s nothing. I don’t know.”

Now it’s my turn to read his mind. It’s that look he gets only when he thinks about June. I wonder if he has an entire life laid out in front of him, if he sees glimmers of her at his side, of him holding her hand. I wonder if he’s afraid of that vision of a life, how easily it could shift depending on the directions that the present will shift him. On how the next few weeks will go.

“Daniel,” I say gently, so that he turns back to me. “She’s nuts about you. And you’ve been obsessed with her since as far back as I can remember. It’s obvious to everyone.”

He looks down at his hands. They fidget nervously, the fingers weaving together and then pulling apart. Even now, he can’t seem to bring himself to shake off his past, the feeling that maybe he was never meant to be with someone as high-ranking as June.

I wonder if we’ll ever fully escape our history. But every step forward takes us to a better place.

“If you need help with anything related to June,” I add, “you know you have a brother that you can count on.” I shrug a little. “Just in case you had something specific in mind.”

He looks at me, then smiles a little. There’s hope in his gaze—but even better than that, there’s trust. We may always struggle with our pasts, but we can rest assured that we’ll always have someone else who can pull us forward. In this moment, at least, the fear of going to bed and confronting my nightmares again seems distant.

“Glad you said it,” he finally answers. “I think I will need your help.”

DANIEL‌

There was a time when my wanted poster was scattered on the JumboTrons all over Los Angeles. It’s still strange to be in the Republic without seeing those ads, to know that I’m not walking down the streets as a criminal anymore. Hell, it’s strange to walk down these streets and know that I’m not going to sleep huddled against an alley wall, that I’m not constantly searching for my next meal.

Eden and I have been back in the Republic for a little over two weeks. Behind us and across the oceans, Antarctica has begun the first experimental phase of revising its Level system. Although the President doesn’t want to admit it, they’ve incorporated a lot of the changes that Eden had originally put in. Ways for people in the Undercity to redeem themselves, Level exemptions for things like medicine and food and shelter. More freedom and less punishment for what you can say and express.

They’re small steps, of course, just like the Republic’s progress. All around the world, everyone’s just gradually trying to move forward.

The streets are still slick tonight from a gentle rain earlier in the afternoon, and the air smells crisp and clean, the breeze cooling my cheeks. I take my time strolling toward the complex where June lives, counting out steps of my own. My fingers brush against a small box tucked in one of my pockets. I haven’t opened it since I packed it away. I’m too afraid to.

I reach the main entrance of her complex and exchange a familiar nod with the security guard. June and I have had several dates since I arrived. We’ve caught up over quiet dinners in the corners of restaurants and drinks in the dim recesses of her living room, our faces turned out toward the lights of the city. I’ve talked to her every day. She’s told me about how Anden is securing funding for the Republic’s rebuilding. I’ve told her about how quickly Eden has adapted to his internship and life

back in the Republic.

I go over everything I want to say again in my head. Maybe she’ll tell me that I’m rushing things too much. The thought sends a shiver of uncertainty through me as I head up the elevator to her floor. June is a practical person, after all. How long has it been since we were reunited, anyway? Only several months, with a lot of chaos in between.

I reach her door. There, I press her doorbell and then linger for a moment, trying to stop my fidgeting.

I’m still debating with myself when the door swings open to reveal June.

The sight of her cuts through the train of nervous questions engulfing my thoughts. Her hair is down to her shoulders tonight, dark and wavy, and she has pinned one side with a delicate floral pin. She’s wearing a pale dress that shimmers slightly in the light. Seeing her in full military gear is always breathtaking, but it’s when she’s like this—off duty, her guard down and smile on, her eyes relaxed—that I find myself barely able to handle how stunning she is. She looks so gorgeous in this moment that I just end up staring at her in disbelief.

She laughs at me, then takes a step toward me and kisses me once. “Good evening,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me. “Nice to see you too.”

Does she suspect anything? I smile at her, trying to stay casual, then offer her my arm. “Just so you know,” I say as we start heading back down the hall, “I wasn’t completely overwhelmed at how beautiful you look. That would be stupid.”

“Right.” She tilts her head at me. “Then why were you staring off into space?”

“You had a spider in your hair.”

She laughs again, and I realize that I’ll never get enough of the sound. “Thanks for not telling me,” she says.

We banter as we head out of her complex and into the freshly washed night. I guide her around the puddles still on the sidewalk and watch as the light dances against her hair. Our conversations come more easily now, and somehow, I almost feel like we’ve gone back in time to when we’d first met.

“You said you found a new café that opened near the train station?”

she asks curiously as I lead her down the street. “How come I’ve never heard of this place?”

I smile a little. “Eden told me about it. I think they just opened their

doors today, and haven’t really publicized it. He said it looks perfect for a quiet night.”

June just frowns and concentrates harder on figuring it out. “I usually know about all the openings in this area. Their permits need to go through a strict check, and if they were able to get it approved, I would have heard and sent someone to inspect it.”

I sigh at her and laugh. Keeping a secret from June is just as hard as it’s always been. “Just trust me,” I say before she digs too much deeper.

The train station I take her toward is the same one that I saw her walk by several months ago, for the first time in ten years. I’m quiet as we head through the space. It’s serene right now, the newly paved area empty as no more trains are running here for the night. Patches of grass decorate the gates around the station. The area is dimly lit, only a few streetlights dotting the night.

The memory of that meeting plays sharply in my mind. Eden walking beside me after his first internship interview, his spirits high as he tells me what he wants to do for the Republic, my hands in my pockets, a smile on my face as I listen to him. The sight of June walking toward me from the opposite side of this walkway. The way I had stopped as she passed me by, how everything about her—her eyes, her walk, the sense of her there—had seized me like a hook. I think of how I’d caught up to her, how we’d introduced ourselves to each other again after so much time apart.

Hi, I’m Daniel. Hi, I’m June.

Now I’ve taken her back here. I look at her as we walk, a lump forming in my throat. Is she thinking about that moment, too? She’s quiet, and her eyes seem far away.

Eden should be in position, ready to do his part of my surprise. I glance toward the ledge of the train station’s second floor. He should be up there somewhere. My heart pounds in anticipation.

It’s now or never.

Suddenly, as we go, strings of tiny lights illuminate overhead. There are thousands of them strung in arcs along the trees and poles, guiding our way.

June looks up at them in surprise. A soft gasp escapes her.

I tighten my hand around hers and pull her forward. As we walk, more strings of lights turn on to guide our path, one round after another, their golden, twinkling glow reflected against the wet sidewalk until it looks like we’re walking through a fairyland.

June looks at me, the lights gleaming in her eyes. A curious, puzzled smile is on her face. “Is this your doing?” she asks me, nodding up in wonder at the lights.

I smile and lean down toward her. “Just follow me,” I whisper.

The lights continue to illuminate for us, one row after another, guiding us toward the end of the walkway, where a small park surrounded by shaded trees sits around the corner. As we reach it, I feel a tremble go through June. Her steps falter for a moment.

The walkway leading all around the square space is lit with candles. Thousands of tiny fairy lights glow in the trees overhead. Delicate glass orbs hang from the branches, filled with intricate bouquets of dried flowers, and baskets of roses blanket the grass all around us in a breathtaking pattern, their scent sweetening the air.

I lead her to the center of the space, then turn to face her, my eyes meeting her dark ones. A faint breeze whispers through the leaves. I’m trembling now too, unsure if I’m going to be able to do this.

“Each memory I have of you, I keep in a treasured place in my heart,” I say. “This place holds one of my favorites. You remember it too, yeah? Where we saw each other again, for the first time in a decade?”

June’s eyes are wide now, full of love and fear and expectation. “Of course,” she whispers.

I turn my eyes down for a moment, too shy to hold the gaze between us. My smile edges one side of my mouth up. “I’ve thought about that meeting every day for the past few months. That in this big world, somehow, I found my way back to this city, to this place, and somehow, after everything, the world still chose to put us back in each other’s lives.”

I turn my eyes back up to hers. “The Republic is a place that holds some of our darkest memories, for both you and me. You’ve been through so much, and so have I. We went through it together, and somehow we emerged from it to be here again, at each other’s sides.”

She smiles at me. There is a sheen of tears in her eyes now, and within them are a million stars. “Is that why you brought us here?” she

murmurs.

I step closer to her and look down at our intertwined hands. “June,” I whisper hoarsely, “I’m in love with you. I’ve always been, since the first moment I knew you. There’s nothing that feels more right to me than to be by your side. And I realized that I could never get that feeling if I stayed in Antarctica. So I came back to find you.”

She leans toward me, searching my gaze. “Thank you for coming back,” she whispers.

I glance up at the twinkling lights. “I wanted to bring you here because I think this place holds my favorite memory of us. Of the fact that we’re still here.” Then I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, polished box. I’d spent so long preparing for this moment, overthinking every second of it—but now, I can only keep going. “I … wanted to bring you here because I’d like to stay here, at your side, no matter what happens. I thought this place might be a good beginning for the next chapter of our lives.” I hesitate, bashful now. “That is, if you’d like to be here with me too.”

Her hands tremble against mine as I kneel down before her and open the box to show her a ring.

It’s a clean, silver band studded with tiny, evenly spaced sparkles of diamonds, designed with an intricate twisting pattern reminiscent of the paper clip ring I gave her years ago, and of the one she’d given me. I’d worked with a craftsman on it years ago, had kept it in my possessions in the hopes that one day I’d be able to gift it. It looks like ten lost years aching to be made up for by a lifetime together.

“A long time ago, I gave you a ring that held my entire heart,” I tell her. “But it represents a past. I want to give you something that is a future. A possibility.”

June looks at me with eyes full of hope and fear. “And what is that future?” she asks.

I gather all my courage.

And I ask her the question I’ve been thinking about for so long, the one that my life has been leading up to since the moment I first met her, when we were still so young, unsure what the next day would bring, clinging to each other in desperation, finding ourselves together, the question that has drawn me back here to her, heart bared, vulnerable, afraid and hopeful.

“Will you marry me?” I say to her.

And for an instant, I think I’m dreaming. I’m going to wake up and this is all going to disappear. Or maybe we aren’t meant to be—she will turn away, or she will shake her head, and this particular future will never come to pass.

But then June’s tears finally spill down her face, and her smile is the brightest light I have ever seen, and she is wrapping her arms around my neck, crying and laughing and shaking, and I am so overwhelmed with joy that for a moment all I can do is embrace her. I take the new ring and slide it onto the finger where she’d once worn a twist of paper clips that represented our history.

A past. A future. Something that can be ours.

I realize I’m crying too, because the final puzzle piece of my heart has fallen into place.

June’s answer drifts up into the night air and echoes across the cityscape, one of millions of things happening in each of our lives, the small steps you take that are invisible to everyone else in the world. The steps that, nevertheless, matter the most.

Yes. Always. Forever.