Souls Below - Rebellion

Chapter Thirty-Three

Braken blinked once, and then the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

“Your curiosity intrigued me. I watched as you and your friends entered the restricted sector. Your courage is not like the rest of the Lowers your age.” A flash of memory surfaced—someone watching from the dark. I’d felt it a few times while wondering around. I knew we weren’t alone that day, I just never thought it would be the leader of the rebellion. My mouth opened slightly.

“You were there?”

“I am a curious person myself,” he replied smoothly. “I find it helps to strive for something greater.”

“Or an easy way to wind up dead,” I muttered, hearing Jerard’s warning echo in my mind. Braken chuckled under his breath.

“Why would that interest me?” he mused aloud, then paused. His gaze flicked over my face. “Because it overrides the self-preservation instinct us Lowers cling so tightly to.” I frowned. The conversation felt as if it were slowly closing in around me, like a trap I hadn’t noticed until I’d already stepped into it.

“Staying alive is kind of a must down here,” I shot back with a sarcastic twist of my lips.

“And yet,” he continued, leaning forward again, eyes gleaming, “we are slowly dying because of it.” I bit down on my tongue. The air between us pulsed like the reactor, thick with unspoken things.

Braken tilted his head, studying me. “I want a way out, Amira. And I feel you may have a role in getting what I want.”

That set every nerve in my body alight. “What do you want from me?”

His smile was slow, deliberate. He stood slowly and crossed the room to the glass wall. “The Uppers believe we’re nothing. A malfunction beneath their feet. But this reactor?” He touched the glass. “This is our heartbeat. Our power.” He turned to face me again, the light from the reactor casting long shadows across his face. “With the right leverage, we could force them to the table. Or burn their table down.”

There it was again—the fire behind his voice. The zeal of someone who wasn’t just fighting for justice… but for domination. Control.

My breath caught. “You want to use the reactors?”

“Initially as bait, yes.” he confirmed. “But it wouldn’t be enough. We need an exit plan. A real one.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Jerard… he only ever planned. Always planning, Always talking. But never doing. Me?” He tapped the desk lightly. “I put things into motion.”

I stared at him. My thoughts spun, unraveling at the edges, fraying from the inside out. Everything I knew—everything Jerard told me—felt suddenly unstable.

“What do you really want, Braken?” I asked, my voice thin. Braken smiled again—but it wasn’t the soft, easy grin from earlier. It was sharper. Like the edge of a knife wrapped in velvet.

“A way out. For all our people. That’s all. And you have information that could help with that.” My eyes flicked from the man before me, to the reactor behind him.

“What do you know about the restricted sector?” I asked, voice low. Braken’s smile sharpened.

~*~

The hallways seemed quieter now, as if even the rebellion needed sleep. My boots echoed faintly on the concrete as a tall woman led me through the winding maze of tunnels. She didn’t say much—just nodded to the door at the end of a corridor before turning and walking away. No guards. No locks. Just a plain metal frame with a glowing sensor strip beside it.

The guest room wasn’t lavish—just a bunk, a desk, a basin and mirror—but after everything, the stillness felt almost luxurious. I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, wincing as the wound at my side pulled under the bandage. The dull throb was a reminder I was still here. Still alive.

But still in danger.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Braken. About his eyes, the ease in his voice, the way he never raised it—but still made me feel cornered. What had Jerard not told me? And what was Braken holding back?

I didn’t get long with my thoughts as a soft knock rapped at the door. Before I could answer, it slid open with a faint hiss. Zinnivia stepped in, hands behind her back, posture stiff in an attempt to appear composed.

Her outfit—orange oil worker overall suit with mismatched patches of metal stitched into the sleeves, opened at the front to reveal a shirt with a hand drawn cat on the front—looked almost laughably out of place in the bleak concrete room. But her eyes, wide and uncertain, gave away more than she meant them to.

“Hey,” she started, rocking on her heels. “You… uh, settling in okay?”

I nodded, unsure whether I was supposed to thank her or brace myself. “It’s… quiet round here.”

She gave a short, awkward laugh. “Yeah. Most people are either sleeping or sneaking food from the dry stores at this time of the cycle.”

I raised a brow. “You do that too?”

“Only on days ending in Y,” she answered with a wink, then instantly seemed to regret it. “Sorry. That was dumb.”

I let a small smile tug at the edge of my mouth. “It’s okay.”

A silence settled between us—tight and awkward—before Zinnivia finally blurted, “I just wanted to say… I’m glad you’re here.”

I blinked. “Why?”

She looked down, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t have… a lot of people. Not real ones. The rebellion is great and all, and Braken’s like… well, you’ve seen how he is. But it’s different having someone your age who doesn’t treat you like a tool, or a weirdo.”

I frowned. “I never thought you were a weirdo.”

Her eyes lit up at that. “Really?”

I shrugged. “You’re strange. But, not in a bad way.”

Zinnivia grinned, then quickly tried to hide it behind a cough. “You know… Braken found me when I was younger. I’d just gotten beat up by some kids who didn’t like my… flair.”

She gestured vaguely to her clothes, her hair, the clinking metal scraps adorning her sleeves.

“I was angry. Hiding. Thought maybe I’d just stay that way forever. But Braken… he found me, sat with me for hours. Told me he understood, that he’d been different too, once. That he was building something better—a family. One where people like me wouldn’t be punished for being ourselves.”

I looked at her, surprised by the depth in her voice. She wasn’t just performing this time.

“And you believed him?” I asked softly.

Zinnivia hesitated. “I still do. I mean… he saved me.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I thought of how Braken looked at me, how he always seemed to be shaping the conversation around what he needed. Was that the same kindness? Or something else?

Zinnivia stepped closer, fidgeting. “I just… I hope you’ll stay. Not just for the mission. For… you know. Here. With us.” Her smile was small now. Real. And somehow it made the tightness in my chest ache more.

I nodded slowly. “I’m still figuring things out.”

She seemed to accept that, nodding in return. “Well. If you ever want someone to talk to, or sneak food with. Or spar—I’m pretty good at hand-to-hand, you know—I’m around.”

I gave her a tired smile. “Thanks, Zinnivia.”

She hovered a moment longer, like she wanted to say something else—but then just said, “Rest up,” and slipped out the door.

The room was quiet again, but my mind wasn’t. Braken had been following me, he’d seen us enter the restricted sector. He saw something in me, enough to try and manipulate. Enough to use. But that didn’t mean it would work, I wasn’t some clueless Upper who believed him just because he sounded confident.

Zinnivia had been saved… but at what cost? Unyielding and unquestionable loyalty?

I lay back on the bunk, staring up at the dim light panel above, trying to keep my thoughts from spiralling. And failing.

~*~

Jerard stepped into his study, the familiar weight of responsibility pressing against his shoulders. Inside, conversation ceased immediately. Strem stood near the window, Greaves slouched against the wall with arms crossed, Cranox—Zinnivia’s father—hovered timidly near the corner with his glasses slipping down his nose, and Brenah, built like a fortress, stood with her arms folded and her expression tight. To his surprise, Meya was there too—his late wife’s sister, still as sharp-eyed and unyielding as ever.

They were all watching him. Waiting. Jerard inhaled, steadying himself.

“You all know why we’ve been moving in secret,” he began, voice calm but edged with urgency. “And you understand what’s at stake. The rebels no longer fight for the right kind of change. Braken saw to that long ago.”

Brenah nodded solemnly, her jaw set. “We’ve all lost something to his chaos. For four years, we’ve blocked his moves, played the long game. And now it feels like it was for nothing.”

“The girl had it coming,” Greaves muttered, his voice low and bitter. “Let Braken find out why the agri-sector was sealed off.” Jerard turned a hard stare on him. He knew Greaves’ resentment ran deep toward the Uppers—but that anger too often landed on Amira.

“We can’t let Braken take Amira into the sector,” Jerard stated firmly. “She’s the key. The only key we have left to a peaceful resolution with Above.”

Greaves scoffed. “You’ve been waiting four years for her memory to prove your theory. If she was important, wouldn’t something have come back by now?”

“I’m with Greaves on this,” Brenah added, her tone more measured but no less blunt. “We’ve been building plans around a hunch. There’s still no proof she’s anyone but a child hidden after the attack—maybe born to the dead, maybe just unlucky.” Jerard’s eyes slid toward Meya, who had yet to speak. She stood against the far wall, arms crossed, gaze flicking from one face to the next.

“We move now,” Cranox piped in suddenly, pushing his glasses up with a nervous gesture. “While Braken’s distracted. We won’t get another opportunity like this.”

“Stage a mutiny from inside?” Meya finally spoke, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. “You really think the rebels will turn on Braken that easily? You think he won’t see it coming?” All eyes turned to her. Greaves, in particular, looked irritated she’d spoken at all. “Using kids as bait while you sneak around like rats to seize control while the king’s away?” Meya’s voice was biting. “Real noble.”

Jerard couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Greaves scowled. “Who the f**k are you to speak like that?”

Meya didn’t blink. “Someone with better morals than you.” Her eyes pinned Jerard in place next. He had to suppress the instinct to look away. There was something about her stare—too much like Klare’s. “I know why you never visited,” she added quietly. “And I don’t blame you. But this girl…”

She paused, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“I can see why you’ve protected her. But don’t make her into a weapon.”

Greaves growled low in his throat. “That’s what I’ve been saying. You can’t love a gun.”

“Oh, shut up,” Meya snapped, whirling on him. “When’s the last time you even held a gun, Greaves?”

His bluster deflated in an instant. “That’s beside the—”

“Don’t bother.” Her narrowed gaze silenced him more thoroughly than words ever could.

Jerard stepped in again, voice low but commanding. “Shut it, Greaves. Before I throw you out again.” He gestured toward Meya. “This is Klare’s younger sister. She has more right to be here than any of you.” That turned heads, irritation shifted into curiosity. Jerard let the silence stretch, then nodded toward her. “She’s paid more than any of us for this war.”

Meya’s voice came softer now, but no less steady. “We all made sacrifices. We all knew it wouldn’t be quick or easy. But somewhere along the way, we lost sight of why we’re doing this.”

She looked back at Jerard, eyes sharp. “And some of us have paid dearly for it.” No one replied. The weight of her words hung heavy. “They’ve found a way into the restricted sector,” Meya continued. “And Braken doesn’t know its history. He’s walking those kids to their deaths.”

“We can’t let them pay for our inaction,” Jerard added quietly.

“But if what Greaves says is true,” Meya continued, “taking control of the rebels matters just as much.”

Jerard nodded. “Two birds. One stone.” He straightened. “I’ll lead a team—myself, Greaves, Cranox, Brenah. We’ll infiltrate the rebellion and take control from within. Anyone still loyal to Jerard Grave Digger will follow.”

He turned to Meya. “You and Strem head for the restricted sector. Try to stop Braken before he takes them in.”

Greaves stood, stretching with a grin that promised violence. “Been too long since I had a proper fight.”

Meya’s voice came again, more cautious this time. “And if Braken doesn’t listen? If he convinces them to go in?” Jerard’s eyes darkened. The room stilled.

“Shoot him.”

The cold finality of the order hit like ice. Even Greaves, brash as he was, sobered. They had all seen what Jerard had become after Klare’s death. They remembered the man who killed without mercy, without remorse. They didn’t want to see what he would do if anything happened to Mira.

Meya nodded once. No hesitation. She turned toward the door.

“And Meya,” Jerard called as she reached it.

She glanced over her shoulder. He met her gaze with a glint of steel in his eyes.

“Don’t miss.”

A smirk flickered across her lips. “I never do.” The chill that followed her out lingered long after the door closed, leaving the others in stunned silence.