Souls Below - Rebellion

Chapter Nine.

I stepped past him, into the quiet, small house I called home. Part of me was still back in that moment, under Krane’s eyes on the roof of the warehouse. Another part was still out there in the street, hearing Krane say my name like it meant something.

Like I meant something.

Something had happened between them—Krane and his Dad. I could feel it, thick in the silence that lingered after the door shut behind us. Not just the usual fights. Not just the hard-edged words that sometimes cracked like steel against the air. No—this was deeper. Like it had been simmering under the surface for a long time and finally boiled over.

But whether Jerard would ever tell me the truth about it… that was another matter entirely. He’d been keeping things from me more often lately. Not maliciously—but like he thought shielding me was his job. Like he still saw me as a girl who needed protecting, not someone who’d grown up in the ashes of this city. Not someone who could handle the burn.

I headed toward my room, boots scuffing against the worn floorboards, already halfway to shutting myself in for the night, when Jerard’s voice followed me.

“The Upper was spotted today.” I paused mid-step. His tone was casual—but it was the kind of casual that meant he was choosing his words very, very carefully. “Near the restricted section,” he added. I turned halfway toward him, curiosity sharpening.

“Did the guards catch him?” Jerard’s jaw ticked.

“No. He got away.” I raised a brow.

“Huh. Didn’t realize Uppers were that fast.”

“He’s injured,” he replied flatly, gaze unreadable. “Which makes him dangerous.”

I blinked. “How can a hurt Upper be dangerous?” Jerard’s expression didn’t change.

“An injured wolf is more dangerous than a healthy one.” I tilted my head, his other words fading completely as my curiosity took over.

“What’s a wolf?” He sighed, the sound weary, like he didn’t have the energy to explain ancient words to a girl born in metal and rust.

“It means he’s desperate. Unpredictable. He might try something reckless to save himself. So, if you see him, Mira, you come straight home. Don't approach. Don't interact. No games. No playing hero. No questions. Understood?” I pulled a face—he could be such a buzzkill sometimes.

“It’s just one Upper. What’s the big deal?” His gaze sharpened.

“The big deal is that anyone caught with him will be treated as an accomplice.” That stopped me cold. Accomplice.

That meant scanning. Interrogations. Charges. Trials. The kind you didn’t walk away from, not if you were from the Lowers. Not if you didn’t even have an ID tag. “So, to be clear: Do. Not. Engage.” His voice dropped an octave, the kind of serious tone he rarely used. I nodded slowly, a knot tightening in my gut. Whatever this Upper was caught up in… it was serious.

"Can I... still see Krane?” I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. 'If he doens't hate me, that is.' Jerard’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing something behind them.

“He and Strem ran into trouble in the Mech sector,” he said finally. “The boy’s working through some stuff with his dad. But, yeah, you can see him. Just be home before the night whistle.” A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Small. Uncertain. But it was something. Now I just had to figure out how to say sorry for something I was still unsure of what I did.

I was halfway up the stairs when Jerard’s voice caught me again.

“While at the warehouse…” he began, tone slower now, “did Krane say—or do—anything strange?” His hesitation made me stop. I turned back, brows furrowing.

“He seemed angry with his dad. Flushed, like he had a fever. And… well…” My voice trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. I wasn’t even sure what I’d been about to say. Jerard raised a brow, waiting.

“… I don’t know,” I finished lamely. He studied me for a beat longer, something flickering behind his eyes.

“And what about you?” I blinked.

Me?

The question caught me off guard. My mind went immediately to the fluttering in my chest, the strange heat behind my ribs, the way my stomach twisted when Krane looked at me like he had on the rooftop. I thought about how close he’d stood tonight—how the world had narrowed down to the space between us.

But I didn’t want Jerard to worry. Didn’t want to give him another reason to shut the world off from me. I was trying not to overthink it. Trying not to read into things that maybe didn’t mean what I thought they did.

'Makers, what was wrong with me?'

I shook my head. “No. Nothing,” I answered instead. Jerard's eyes lingered a moment longer, watching. Once satisfied—or pretending to be—he nodded and turned toward the kitchen.

“Goodnight, Pea.”

I managed a soft smile. “Goodnight.” Then slipped into my room, shutting the door gently behind me. The wood clicked closed like a seal, muffling the world outside. I leaned against it, heart thudding, breath tight in my throat.

Should I have told him? About how Krane’s nearness made my brain short-circuit? That something had shifted between us and I didn’t understand it? How the way he’d said my name tonight… had felt like it meant something?

I pressed a palm to my chest. The flutter was still there.

Shaking my head, I crossed the room and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. The air was cold—cold enough that I curled tight, knees drawn to my chest as I nestled into the corner by the window.

Outside, the city lights blinked faintly through the haze, scattered like dying embers. The tower of the City was just distant shadow behind the it all, unreachable for someone like me. Tomorrow was a new day. Krane would be okay. We all would.

I hugged my knees tighter, trying to hold together the spiralling feeling raging inside my chest and head. Whatever was happening to Krane—whatever he was going through—I was going to help him.

No matter what.

~*~

My dreams…

I stood at the edge of a forest. No—that wasn’t quite right. It was a garden, bursting with color. Flowers bloomed early, painting the ground in soft pastels. I blinked up at the bright orb overhead.

The sun.

Yes. That’s what it's called.

Above, the sky stretched in endless blue, and piercing into it was a towering building—massive, gleaming, almost unreal. Lights twinkled from within like stars trapped behind glass. At its peak, a single powerful beam shone upward, slicing through the sky and vanishing into the unknown.

What was it for? What did it reach for?

I blinked again.

The Citadel.

The safe haven. The place where the King and Queen ruled.

So why was I here?

A voice called a name. My name?

I turned, just enough to see a figure come into view. A boy. His face was blurry, but his mouth was curled in a smile. My vision zoomed strangely, cutting off the upper half of his face. He was speaking, but I couldn’t make out the words—just a muffled rhythm, soft and distant.

Still, I smiled back. Something about him seemed comforting, familiar. Safe.

He reached out. His fingers brushed mine, closing gently around them....

~*~

The morning whistle had blown not long ago, and the city had started to stir with its usual slow ache. People moved like shadows through the early morning, shuffling out from narrow doors and worn metal staircases, dragging themselves toward duty. I moved among them, steps slow, feet knowing the route, thoughts elsewhere—adrift in the pieces of my dream I hadn’t fully shaken.

It had felt different. Like I’d been there, as if I’d stood beneath that gleaming, golden-white tower, rising from a stretch of greenery so bright it hurt to look at. A place that breathed. I had felt the wind on my face that didn’t reek of ash and rust. I remembered the warmth. The silence. The sense of... peace. Was that the Upper City? Had I seen it from above?

I looked up, catching a glimpse of the pale beams of sunlight filtering down through narrow slats and window vents. No. It couldn’t have been real—if it had been a memory, someone would’ve come looking for me after the riots. An Upper wouldn’t have been left down here. Not for four years. Right?

The tower in my dream—its shape lingered in my mind. It looked like the one that marked the center of the Lower City. Our tower, the one with its stone base and metal veins stretching skyward like bones. The one in my dream had been alive. Not some half-dead, skeletal frame barely keeping the heart of the city alive.

Were they connected?

I shook my head hard, trying to jar the thought loose. Just another dream. Another fantasy stitched together by a restless mind, spun from exhaustion and half-truths. Wishing for something bigger, something better.

I shouldn’t dwell on it.

I turned instead to thoughts of Krane. To the way he’d stood there, silent and rigid as stone, before vanishing into the alley like the world had burned him alive. Was he really sick? Or was it something else?

He hadn’t looked fevered. Not exactly. More like he was boiling from the inside. That same heat I’d felt on the rooftop—the one that set my pulse tripping in my chest—had radiated off him again. But it hadn’t felt like illness, it had felt like a warning.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

My thoughts drifted to Jerard, how he'd be furious if the wrong ears heard I'd spoken to the Upper. If the guards found out I’d offered help to—even just advice—he’d be the one left cleaning up the mess. Again.

Maybe I should skip work.

I had enough meal stubs banked to survive at least two weeks of shifts, saved up just in case the guards came looking. Maybe even enough to dodge questions for a month if they really came knocking. Besides, I needed to know if Krane was okay. If he’d cooled down from my accusation and was speaking to me.

I slipped a hand into my pocket and pulled out the P.I.P. card— the one I’d grabbed on my way out— turning it over in my fingers, feeling its smooth edges, the gentle click of plastic against skin.

Maybe Krane would be up for a detour. Maybe we could check it out together—if he didn’t hate me now. If I hadn’t broken something between us I didn’t yet know how to fix. I was halfway through replaying the dream again—like a broken holo-loop stuck in my head—when a sharp, chemical tang hit my nose.

I stopped, sense on high alert. The air was too still. Too bitter. Too wrong.

Dust blanketed the buildings in thick, undisturbed layers, and wiry weeds curled from cracks in the concrete like the place had started growing its own defenses. Somewhere nearby, a rat-like thing hissed and vanished into the shadows, its claws skittering across the broken floor.

I glanced around, slowly, carefully. No signs. No guards. No voices.

Just me.

In the restricted zone, alone.

Shit.

“Nice one, Mira,” I muttered under my breath. “Daydream your way straight into exile.” My whole body tensed, muscles coiled tight.

I knew better. This place was off-limits for a reason. And yet…

The silence here was different. Not empty, exactly. More like the buildings themselves were holding their breath. Watching.