Souls Below - Rebellion

Chapter Twenty-Five.

The Lower City stirred with slow, tired motion as I trudged through its narrow streets. The air was sharp with morning cold, each breath rising in small clouds of steam. Cleaning bots clunked along beside me, scraping grime from the cracked road with mechanical indifference.

As I passed a shadowy alley, I caught sight of one bot sprawled in pieces, wires exposed and casing shattered. Stripped for parts—scrappers had likely torn into it the moment it failed. No surprise. That kind of sight was becoming normal now, another reminder that our world was splintering piece by piece.

I kept walking, hands deep in my sleeves, boots hitting pavement in rhythm. I wanted to get to the ration line early, beat the crowd. My body ached from the late night, but I’d still woken before the morning whistle. Maybe I hadn’t really slept. Not deeply.

My thoughts kept circling one moment—the kiss. Krane’s lips on the top of my head. Soft. Lingering.

It wasn’t like the other times. This one felt… different. Like he was trying to say something without saying it. Like it cost him something to walk away. Why did it feel like my heart had paused for it?

I shook my head, trying to focus. I was overthinking it. He has kissed me on the head thousands of times, this wasn’t any different, I was thinking to far into it, right? As I rounded the corner I stopped short.

Old Woman Merla stood at the very front of the line, trembling in the cold, her frail frame wrapped in layers that barely did the job at preserving even the thought of warmth.

‘How had she gotten here so fast? How the hell was she still alive?’

A nearby guard scanned the street lazily, fingers brushing his baton at his side. I pulled my hood up tighter, trying to disappear into the growing crowd. I lined up behind Merla, listening to the faint rattle of her bones as she shifted. As if sensing me, she turned. Her gray eyes, cloudy and sharp all at once, locked onto mine. Her glasses were cracked and slipping down her bony nose. I offered a tight smile. She scowled.

“Pretty little things like you don’t stay pretty forever,” she croaked. “One day they’ll toss you out like yesterday’s trash.” Her voice cracked into a coughing fit, her whole body shuddering. “Coming from experience,” she wheezed when it passed.

I watched her turn back around, wary. I’d heard rumors about Merla. Some said she was once an Upper, or tried to marry into the Uppers and failed. Krane once said she’d been sold off to a rich Upper man, and the only way out was to flee down here.

“Did you hear about the Upper?” I asked quietly. She turned fast, gray eyes narrowing. “I heard he was killed,” I added, keeping my tone neutral.

“Not likely,” she scoffed. “Uppers are well resourced. The guards probably helped him get out.” She coughed again, harsher this time. “Half the guards follow orders. The other half act like gods. You want to see their work, go visit the quarantine zones.”

My interest sharpened. “Like the restricted sector?” I asked. She nodded absently. “What happened?” If anyone knew more than Jerard or Strem, it was Merla. She’d been here longer than most. She turned to face me fully now, eyes gleaming in that unsettling way she had, like she could see through flesh and bone.

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” she snipped. I drew my hood lower and glanced down. “Not many young ones asking about places they’re told to avoid.” I risked a glance at the bored guard to our left. Merla followed my gaze, flicking her wrist in his direction, “don’t bother with him. I watched him pop three Phiz pills like the were numb-free tablets.” I hesitated, working out my words to avoid further suspicion from the sharp woman.

“I lost a sister to the sickness,” I answered softly. “And my… Pa never talks about her.” Merla’s expression shifted. For a second, her eyes softened.

“We lost many to that abomination,” she croaked. “If the Uppers weren’t so greedy, always reaching for what isn’t theirs, this city might still be alive.” I frowned.

“What do you mean? The Uppers caused the sickness?” Her body wracked with another cough. The guard glanced our way. I averted my eyes and stared at the cracked pavement.

“You don’t think it’s strange that an entire district—one that grew our food—was sealed off in a day? A few hours? Cause of a ‘sickness’?” Her voice was sharper now. “If a disease were spreading, wouldn’t it start in the med wards? Where the sick already are?” The words hit me like a fist to the chest. I’d heard the rumours, brushed them off like everyone else. But from Merla’s mouth, they sounded like something else. Like truth.

“Why would they poison our food?” I pushed, the words tasting bitter.

Merla’s grin was thin and cold. “Not poison, dear. Experimentation. And what are the two fastest ways to measure success or failure?” A chill ran down my spine.

“Water,” I whispered. “And food.” Her cackle grated on my ears. “But why?” I asked again.

Merla turned forward as the ration gate began to creak open. “When I get above, I’ll ask for you, yeah?” she wheezed out with another fit of laughter. I turned away, heart pounding, not even realizing how much time had passed.

When my turn came, I grabbed my rations, shoved them into my bag, and started for home. I needed to find Calian to talk through the storm of questions in my head. I needed answers.

~*~

I shoved open the office door, urgency overriding caution. The moment it bounced off the wall, five sets of eyes snapped to me. I froze. Voices had been speaking before—but now, silence filled the room.

Greaves shot a glare from his post near the window, his eyes always unreadable and cold. I still didn’t know what I’d done to offend him, but he seemed to have a personal vandetta against me. Jerard’s gaze was hard, his mouth a grim line.

“Oh… um, sorry, Jerard. I didn’t realize—” I stammered.

“Leave,” Greaves growled.

“Greaves, enough,” Jerard snapped sharply. “Mira, we’re in the middle of a meeting. Head upstairs.”

I nodded quickly, heart thudding as I recognized one of the men—Zinnivia’s father. I backed out and shut the door softly, pulse racing. I needed to get my head on straight. Last time I barged in anywhere like that, I barely escaped with my life.

Entereing upstairs, thoughts churned in my mind—about the restricted sector, Old Merla’s words,—and somewhere tangled in the mess, I wondered where Jerard had stashed him.I dropped my backpack by the kitchen, distracted, heading toward my room. I didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open until it was too late.

Calian stepped out—bare-chested—and I walked straight into him.

We stumbled, a tangle of limbs and momentum, falling into the hallway. He caught himself on the wall, one arm around my back, hovering just above me, his face was inches from mine. My breath hitched. His skin was warm from the shower, his dark hair damp and tousled, strands clinging to his forehead. His blue eyes—so bright, so alive—held mine, intense and searching. My gaze dropped to his lips without permission.

I felt his hand tighten against my back. His face softened as he leaned in—just a little. The office door slammed open downstairs.

Calian flinched, like someone had slapped him, hand releasing my frame and straightened abruptly, leaving me stunned on the floor. He looked to the front door, then to me, let out a sigh, and reached down to haul me up by the hand. The grip was stronger than necessary, and I swayed slightly, disoriented.

His hand steadied me, warm and grounding. I glanced at his bare torso—lean, sculpted. My cheeks flushed hot.

“Jerard told me to stay out of sight,” Calian muttered, eyes on the door again, not noticing my drooling stare. “But there’s only so long one can hide in a bathroom.” He turned toward the kitchen, and as he walked away, I caught a glimpse of a strange, round scar at the center of his back between his shoulder blades.

“What’s that?” I asked before I could stop myself. He paused, snatching the shirt draped over the chair. For a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer, his irritation rolling off him.

“It’s called a halo,” he replied tightly, pulling the shirt over his head. “When I was a child, I got very sick. My parents thought I would die. A woman—one of the last great scientists—treated me with a device that housed nanobots. They repaired what was wrong, and once their task was done, they went dormant.” He crossed his arms, face guarded.

I picked at the skin around my thumbnail, feeling suddenly out of place. “What’s a nanobot?”

He exhaled sharply, tone clipped. “Like your cleaning bots, but microscopic.” I frowned, more at his tone than the explanation. His mood had turned again, cold and unreadable. I tried to brush past it, wanting to clear my chest.

“I found out something today at the rations line. About the sickness. And the restricted sector—”

“Wouldn’t your boyfriend be the one you’d want to tell?” he cut in, voice laced with something sharp.

I blinked at the sudden edge in his words. “… What?” '

‘just when I thought I was getting off the dumb wagon, I jump straight back on. Good job Mira’ I thought sarcastically to myself.

“Krane,” he snapped bitterly. “I’m sure he’d love to gloat. He already thinks I’m just another ignorant, dangerous Upper.” I stared at him, stunned. It wasn’t just bitterness in his voice—it was jealousy. My heart gave an involuntary flutter—was he jealous of my friendship with Krane?

“Krane’s not my boyfriend,” I corrected quietly. His eyes snapped up to meet mine, something like relief breaking through his tension. “He’s my best friend. My only friend, really. He’s always looked out for me… I don’t know where I’d be without him. Probably dead in a gutter.” I trailed off, lips pressed together, mind turning.

‘Would Krane ever want to be more than friends? He protected me like a brother, not… something else, right? Still, the way he looked at me sometimes, and the head kiss last night—’

I picked harder at my fingers, not noticing the sting until I felt blood rise beneath the skin. Calian gently caught my hands, stilling them. His touch was soft but grounding, and I looked up, breath catching in my throat.

“I was out of line,” he commented, voice low. “It’s not my place to assume anything.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath. “This place—it’s changed how I see things. You’ve changed how I see things.” He tilted my chin up with his finger, and everything in me stilled. His eyes locked on mine, and I could barely breathe.

“You made me question why I’m here.” His hand dropped, fingers sliding back to clasp mine.

“And why are you here?” I whispered.

“Theia guided me, even after her death. I believe she led me to you—first at the market, then again when you saved my life. You remind me of her… not in appearance, but in spirit.”

His voice broke slightly.

“I think she brought me here because you’re the one who can make a difference. And I’m going to help you. No matter the cost.”