Isaac

  I move along the moving belt for maybe fifty meters. I can feel Elis’s gaze on me—I’m sure of it. I turn. I don’t see her anymore, and then I do: her delicate head, hazel hair lost in the crowd.

  My gut tightens. The situation’s getting complicated.

  I reach the platform, hop onto the first belt, and transfer to the second, riding the flow toward car 01.

  I walk toward the entrance, already expecting trouble: Klimb—broad shoulders, unkempt beard, the posture of a human wall.

  I stop in front of the door, mostly because he’s blocking it.

  “Klimb, could you let me through, please?”

  He turns, annoyed. He taps my chest with two fingers.

  “Wait your turn, Moore.”

  I lean to the side and look past him. The car is empty.

  “I don’t see any line. I just want to sit in my seat.”

  His hand comes back to my chest, heavier this time. He shoves me, and I stumble.

  “Hey, Klimb! You find a new excuse every day. Last time it was the seat, today it’s the entrance… Show some respect.”

  “Respect for what, Moore?”

  His voice is razor-sharp.

  Shoulders hunched over me.

  At least five inches taller than me.

  He laughs in my face.

  “You want to make it a contest—who gets in first?”

  A crooked grin, the kind that dares you without thinking.

  I point at the BluEye above us.

  “I don’t want a behavioral fine. I just want to get into my train car.”

  “Oh. Your train car.”

  The smile folds into contempt.

  “Did Daddy Mister BluEye gift you this too?”

  “That’s not what I meant. And you know I’m not looking for trouble.”

  He shrugs.

  “Then you know what you have to do.”

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  I look up.

  “By the Rausen’s statue—You never change. Two years of you asking me for homework after every hard class. We’re seniors now. Real work starts soon.”

  “I don’t give a—”

  He mouths the last word without sound: fuck.

  “You could at least try. Your dad might hand you an honor post in Sector 3, but he won’t do the job for you. Study, instead of thinking about winning Warball tournaments one after another…”

  A look of fire shuts me up. His fist hangs there, suspended between his thoughts and my face. It’s the last thing I need right now.

  I give in.

  “After lunch. I’ll send them.”

  The smile comes back to Klimb’s face.

  “See? You can be reasonable, Moore.”

  “Can I get in now?”

  He steps aside and, with a gesture more goofy than elegant, waves me through.

  “After you, Mr. Genius. It’s all yours.”

  I get on the airtrain.

  If only my problems ended there.

  ***

  Elis

  The sliding door of car 15 seals shut behind me. The motion makes my hair sway over my shoulders.

  The window screens are still dark. The filtered air smells like nothing.

  The only light comes from two LED strips—one under the seats, the other running along the ceiling. Just enough to wash the whole car in a clean glow.

  I tap my Personal to see where I’m supposed to sit:

  STATION W15-S16.

  I nod to a classmate near the entrance. She sits down, and above her, the green W15-S01 light flips to red.

  I walk down the narrow center aisle between two rows of seats. More than half are empty, just like at the institute.

  I reach the end of the car and sit in station S16. The light flips from green to red.

  I sink into the soft seat, tipping my head into the ergonomic headrest. A long breath escapes me—easily the deepest one I’ve taken all day so far.

  Two thin slits above my shoulders open, and the belts slip out. I grab one and pull it diagonally across to my opposite hip. The magnetic clasp snaps in by itself. I do the same with the other, forming an X. The slits close again, and the straps tighten and adjust until they fit like they were made for me.

  I swipe my Personal. A holographic menu blooms open, packed with animated icons: a music note, a play symbol, a purple envelope with letters spilling out.

  I pick the last one.

  A tiny keyboard appears. I type: Alexian.

  My fingers freeze on the Personal.

  By the Rausen's statue—I’m almost afraid to message her. Then I force myself. She’s his best friend—maybe she knows something he won’t tell me.

  I start typing again:

  Elis: Hi Alexian. I need to talk to you.

  To my left, the window screen powers on and shows the outside. The platform beyond is already empty.

  Right then, the LEDs go out.

  The car grows even quieter. The airtrain lifts a fraction. That familiar shiver—gravity rearranging itself, pressure snapping into place.

  My Personal vibrates.

  I glance down.

  Alexian: Hi Elis. Is this about Isaac?

  My eyes narrow, fixed on the empty seat across from me. A knot cinches and steals my breath.

  My fingers tremble over the holographic keys.

  Elis: Yes, Alexian.

  It isn’t fear.

  It’s something deeper.