2. Chapter 2
Maryn
The papercut was small enough that I could ignore it. Synth was forgiving that way, smoother than the paper it had replaced. I did, meticulously thumbing through the pages of the report I’d found on my desk when I walked in this morning. Beside it, a new trainee waited. Grace.
Outside, pink clouds hung heavy, threatening rain. If it didn't pass soon, I wouldn't have enough time to get ready.
Rows of identical desks stretched the length of the floor, more empty than not.
“Maryn?”
“Hmm?” I looked up.
Grace was frowning at the report I’d placed in front of her. “How will I know if the person did what the report says?”
“Here, let me show you.” I beckoned her closer so she could read my report with me.
“First, go through each of the witness statements. Anyone can make a report against a neighbor or business, but without at least three witness statements to corroborate it, it gets filed.”
I scanned lower and pointed to the first witness statement. “Mr. Steele reported seeing lights on inside Joe’s store on a Monday.”
“The second witness, Mr. Potter,” I said, tapping the page, “thought he saw Joe entering his shop that same day.”
I ran a finger over the cut on the pad of my index finger and read the third witness account.
“Delilah Mathews saw a group of people outside Joe’s store on Monday, April thirteenth, and was certain Joe was there, handing out food. By the looks of their clothes, they were Lowers.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t seem likely that there would be Lowers in the Middle. Besides, everyone knows Delilah can’t see all that well anymore.”
“So we file it?”
I re-read the account.
The irony was that if someone else had reported this infraction, it would have been damning testimony. Enough to strip Joe of his business license and send him to the Lower. But Delilah’s word carried less weight than Mr. Steele’s or Mr. Potter’s.
“Three witnesses are all that are required to request a field audit. Let’s request it.”
I stamped the file.
“Maryn.”
I jumped and looked up. “Hi Corrine.”
“What are you doing?”
I glanced back down at the report on my desk. “Prepping this file for a field audit.”
Her thin lips turned downward. “That’s work for one of the investigators. You saw the report. Only two credible witnesses.”
“If you already read it, why did you give it to me?”
Her frown morphed into a scowl. “To file.”
She moved closer to my desk, glancing around our open industrial office space.
Grace stared between us, and I stiffened, clutching the paper in my hands.
“So we file it?” Grace asked.
My grip tightened as my gaze fell on Corrine’s faded white dress.
She must have stopped buying new ones by now.
At twenty-seven, she had less than six months left to find a match.
After that, she’d be reassigned to the Lower—or worse, sent outside the wall.
My eyes dipped to her shoes, brown from years of field work before she’d been promoted to supervisor.
I could only imagine how scared she must be. In a few months, one way or the other, her life would change.
“No. We’re requesting an agent.”
Corrine eyed me over the rim of her glasses, crossing her arms. “We don’t have enough field agents to handle the workload, Maryn.” She leaned back, looking over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “Seriously, we don’t have to investigate them all.”
Grace was watching us both closely now.
My brow pinched together. “If it’s a matter of resources, send me. I’m happy to do it.”
The light in Corrine’s eyes winked out, and I knew it was the wrong thing to say before she opened her mouth.
“Stay in your lane, third year.” She uncrossed her arms. “Field work is for senior agents.” She huffed, spinning on her heel.
Her next words were quiet, but I didn’t miss them.
“You probably won’t be here long enough to get there anyway. ”
She wasn’t wrong. But not for the reason she meant.
I watched her go, then turned back to Grace. “Don’t worry about her. She’s anxious about leaving us soon.”
Grace nodded, but she looked unconvinced.
Purple rain began to beat against the glass, and a collective groan rose around the room. I stared at the corrosive water streaking over thin glass, searching for a crack, any way in. I envied the water its freedom and its indifference to walls.
Exhaling a long breath, I set the report down and pushed my chair back, the legs scraping loudly against cement.
“Going to lunch?”
I turned around, smiling. “Starving. Let’s go.”
Ruth, my best friend, linked her arm through mine and blinked between Grace and me.
“This is Grace. It’s her first day.”
Grace waved shyly.
“I hope Maryn went over the Religious Affairs handbook with you?” Ruth smiled.
Grace’s grin fell, and she looked to me.
I groaned. “She’s been here less than a day.”
Ruth raised an eyebrow at me. “She can’t review reports if she doesn’t know Covenant laws.” She frowned. “Steps to request an agent.”
I faced my best friend. “First day, Ruth. First. Day.”
She rolled her eyes and admitted defeat, tugging me out of the office with Grace trailing behind us. We took the stairs down to the basement, joining the tail end of the lunch line.
In line, Ruth glanced over her shoulder at me. “Did you see? Elias chose his eleventh match.”
I nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did you see how Elias and Rakel met?”
She giggled. “Scandalous.”
“It’s not like he’ll choose her. Girls from the Middle never make it to the end of an Elite’s rite.” I snapped my mouth shut, glancing around.
Ruth’s eyes widened, but she dipped her head toward me. “It’s better than the alternative.”
A spoonful of mash dropped onto my plate, and I slid forward, accepting a roll and a small square of butter. My stomach grumbled loudly, and I silently wished it were Friday. On Friday, we got meat.
“Potato, Maryn?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
Ruth took a potato from the woman serving us and slid her tray off the line, carrying it to a cafeteria table at the center of the room. I followed, sitting across from her and glancing around the mostly empty space.
The room smelled of boiled starch and the faint chemical bite of the cleaning solution they used on the floors. When I started here, just three years ago, it was loud enough that you had to lean in to hear anything. Today, it echoed.
“I swear, every day there are fewer women here. Doesn’t anyone want to work in Religious Affairs anymore?”
Ruth leaned forward conspiratorially. “There’s a rumor going around that you’re more likely to be selected if you have a job in something more appealing, like childcare or cooking. Even sewing yields better results.”
Grace sat down beside Ruth.
I ran a thumb over my papercut under the table. “Where did you hear that?”
“There’s a news report on Monday nights. It ranks women based on everything from their age when married to their job. The numbers are pretty scary.”
“Oh, I watched that!” Grace said.
She’d watched that report and still ended up here. I glanced at her, really looking at her for the first time. Maybe she was braver than she appeared.
I exhaled a slow sigh and reached for my bread, tearing into it. Here, among only women, I could eat freely. I didn’t have to use a fork and knife to cut everything into tiny morsels or chew delicately.
“Maryn, slow down, you’ll choke.”
Ruth’s smile was too tight, and my head jerked around automatically, scanning the room.
There, in the corner: a man. I hadn’t seen him.
I swallowed audibly, took a sip of my water, and picked up my utensils.
Peering under my lashes, I watched him set down a bag and move to join the line of women.
His dark clothes were a stark contrast to the white we wore.
They halted, giving him space, and he held out a hand to usher them to continue. If he noticed that all chatter had died when we saw him, he didn’t seem to care. As he stood in line, waiting for his turn, most of us had given up all pretense and were openly staring.
What was he doing here? In a woman-operated building?
He moved to the front of the line without reaching for a tray and stepped forward. The woman serving lifted her spoon. It was shaking so badly that some of the mash spilled onto the counter. She looked down, cheeks turning red.
“Ma’am.” The man’s voice was higher than I’d have expected. He cleared his throat. “Miss, look at me.”
She looked up, eyes misting.
“Do you have your paperwork?”
I swallowed. Of course. He was a genetic inspector. I’d never seen one in real life. He was shorter than I would have imagined.
The woman mumbled something, and I tried to remember her name. She had been in a rite two years ago. She wasn’t yet twenty-eight, but she’d failed for the third time. She couldn’t be much older than me. I dug my nails into my palms. Barren woman—why can’t I remember her name?
“Speak up,” the inspector barked.
“I didn’t… bring it.”
He nodded. “Please hold out your hand.”
She set her spoon down, and the trembling became a violent shake as she lifted her arm. The inspector produced a small metal device from his pocket and scanned the barcode imprinted across her wrist. He waited, and the room collectively held its breath.
A beep broke the silence, and he looked up. “Clear. Next time… have your paperwork.”
She nodded, her lip trembling. He moved to the next woman in the line who was already holding out her paperwork, head down. Soft chatter resumed as he reached the end of the line. No one looked at the woman behind the counter.
I turned back to Ruth and Grace.
Ruth exhaled a shaky breath and dipped her spoon into her mash, Grace mirrored her, none of us speaking.
I stared at my plate, counting to five in my head. Then again. Finally, I picked up my fork and knife and began to cut my food.