Souls Below - Rebellion

Chapter Fourteen.

Jerard stood in the doorway of our home, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face carved into a deep scowl. My jog slowed to a hesitant walk as he caught sight of me, his eyes narrowing like a warning. I was in so much trouble.

“No more visits to Krane,” he growled before turning sharply and walking inside. I groaned in frustration. “I asked one thing, Mira. One thing. Be home before the night whistle—and you couldn’t even manage that,” he shouted, voice echoing down the narrow hallway as I stepped inside and slammed the door behind me, anger flaring in my chest.

“You told me to avoid patrols and stay out of danger,” I snapped back, thinking of Calian—the boy Jerard had warned me about. Dangerous, he’d said. But Calian hadn’t done anything except try to hide.

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady,” Jerard rumbled, half-turning to glare at me. His eyes burned. “I was ten seconds away from sending out a search party.”

“Half the damn Makers District is crawling with Guards, Jerard. I can’t just stroll past and expect to go unnoticed.”

“Exactly why I wanted you home,” he barked. “If even one of those guards was feeling cruel or bored, things could’ve gone very wrong for you!” I tilted my head back with a long, frustrated sigh.

“I don’t see what the big deal is— ”

“Because you could have been killed, Selene! That’s why!” His voice rang through the air like a gunshot. I froze. So did he.

The name—Selene—landed between us like broken glass. I saw the recognition flash across his face, followed by guilt and a deep, raw regret. Strem had told me that he hadn’t spoken her name since she died. It was the first time I’d ever heard it pass his lips.

My throat tightened. He had always said I wasn’t a replacement, that I was more than a shadow of someone he lost. But that name—that one mistake—confirmed the doubt that had always gnawed quietly at the back of my mind.

Jerard ran a trembling hand down his face, drawing in a sharp breath. “s**t. Mira, I’m sorry,” he said, voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean to… I was scared. It brought back... memories.” But my heart kept pounding. I couldn’t shake the sting of it. I had hoped he saw me as more—as a second daughter, maybe even as family. But now it was clear: I was still just a reminder of his failure.

I didn’t say a word as I ducked past him and stormed up the hallway. My jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, holding back the tears until I was alone. I reached my room, stepped inside, and slammed the door shut. Jerard’s heavy footsteps followed close behind.

I turned the lock just as the knob twisted. A moment later, I heard the soft thud of his forehead leaning against the wood.

“I’m sorry, Mira,” he tried again, voice muffled. “You mean as much to me as she did. I didn’t mean to call you by her name. I worry about you… like any real Dad would.” My chest ached. My name came again, softer this time.

“But you’re not my Dad,” I replied bitterly. “And I’m not your daughter. I’m just another f*****g problem.” I stepped away from the door, tossed my bag to the ground, and crawled beneath the sheets, hiding from the weight pressing down on my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to look around the room. It suddenly felt foreign—like a space I didn’t belong in. I had wanted this to be home. But maybe I was still just a stranger, clinging to something that wasn’t mine.

Jerard’s footsteps lingered for a moment, then faded slowly down the hall toward his room. I thought of the Upper—the boy lying injured and alone—and the possibility that, through him, I might finally uncover where I came from. Whether I was born down here… or above. I would help him recover.

Not just because it was the right thing to do.

But because he might be the only one who could show me how to reach the surface.

Reaching down between my mattress and the wall, my fingers curled around the small device I had hidden months ago. I tugged it free, flipping it open with practiced ease. Holding the button down, I waited until it lit up—its soft glow reminding me of the little helper bots still wandering the Lower City, dutifully performing their ancient, half-forgotten programming.

I tapped the screen, navigating to the tiny message bubble Krane had shown me when he first got it working.

“Turn it on here, press this,” he’d said, guiding my fingers, “and use these to spell out the word you want to send. When you're done, hit this one—I’ll get it on mine right away.” He had held up an identical device, grinning like a magician showing off a secret trick. If I hadn’t seen it work with my own eyes, I would’ve sworn he was bluffing. No one else in the Lower City had anything like this.

“This would make telling Jerard I’m out late adventuring so much easier,” I had joked with a snort.

Krane laughed. “If my dad knew he could boss me around from a distance, I’d never see him again.” He had tried to make it sound like a joke, but I saw through it.

“So what do I use it for?” I’d asked, turning it over in my hands, inspecting every edge like it might unlock a secret.

“If you’re in trouble, or need to talk... I’ll come find you,” he said, eyes flicking away like he was afraid to meet mine. “Or... if you and Jerard fight again and you just need someone... I’ll always keep it on. Promise.”

I finished typing the message and sent it, closing the device and held it against my chest, hoping he still kept his on—hoping he meant it when he said he always would.

We kept our promises to each other.

It wasn’t the first message I’d sent like this. We’d met up in secret plenty of times since he’d given it to me. But tonight felt different—more raw, more personal. I wasn’t just seeking distraction, I needed him.

My eyes drifted to the skeletal skyline beyond my window, to the twisted silhouettes of buildings reaching toward a metal sky, when a soft tap echoed against the glass. I slid the window open, and there was Krane, crouched on the ledge, his grin pulling at something deep in my chest.

“Hey, daydreamer,” he whispered. The moment he spoke, the tears I’d been holding back spilled over.

He climbed inside silently, the way he had a hundred times before, and pulled me into his arms without a word. I melted into him, voice small and shaking as I recounted what had happened with Jerard. Every word made the ache twist deeper. Krane said nothing about me being late—didn’t question my story about the guards. I hoped he believed me.

“He only cares, Mira,” he murmured after a while. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but calling you by her name... it doesn’t mean he thinks less of you. It means he’s scared.” I didn’t answer. I knew Jerard was scared. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Krane’s fingers threaded gently through my hair, carefully working out the knots. His heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear—a steady rhythm I’d come to know better than my own. It calmed me.

“Will you stay?” I whispered after a while, not lifting my head. His hand stilled for a moment.

“I don’t want to upset Jerard,” he answered, hesitant. I shifted to look up at him. His green eyes met mine, honest and wide. “I won’t be okay if he tells you we can’t see each other,” he added, voice barely above a breath. There was panic behind it, soft but real. It tightened something inside me.

“Just until I fall asleep, then?” I asked. He smiled, and it made something warm and dizzy flutter through me. His gaze dropped to my chest, to the pendant—the one he made—resting against my shirt. His fingers reached out and lifted it gently, not saying anything about it, just smiled a little bigger as he tucked it back.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Just until you’re asleep.” Hope clung to his voice like dew, and I pressed closer, comforted by his warmth. We’d done this before—curled into each other like this on the harder nights, when the walls felt too tight and the silence too loud.

My body relaxed, sleep tugging at my limbs. I barely registered the shift as Krane pulled me closer, barely felt the soft kiss he pressed to the top of my head. His lips brushed my ear, voice low and warm as his fingers continued to stroke my hair.

The words blurred together as sleep dragged me under—but I held on to the feeling of him being there, and the quiet promise behind his touch.