chapter 2
The factory horn blared across District Twelve, its harsh echo rattling through the smog-heavy air.
Ferial pulled her threadbare scarf tighter around her head and joined the stream of human workers pushing through the rusted gates.
The ground was damp from last night’s drizzle, and the smell of oil, sweat, and burnt metal clung to everything.
Clocking in was always the same ritual—an impatient queue, a dull beep from the ancient machine, and the heavy stare of their werewolf supervisor watching from his post.
“Move it, humans,” he barked, his deep voice cutting through the morning chatter. “You think time waits for you?”
Ferial kept her head down and slid her hand under the scanner. The red light flickered before confirming her number. She muttered, “Good morning,” out of habit, though the supervisor never replied.
By the time the line of women reached the work floor, the machines were already roaring to life.
Ferial took her place at one of the assembly tables—rows of worn metal presses used to mold and package machinery components.
The air was thick with heat and steam. She wiped her palms against her skirt, glancing at the other women already bent over their stations, working in silence.
It wasn’t even midmorning before their supervisor began pacing again, his sharp eyes catching every pause, every mistake.
“Faster!” he shouted. “You think you get paid to breathe?”
Ferial bit her tongue and worked faster, guiding a heated component into its mold. The machine hissed, and for a moment she lost focus—the ache in her shoulders and the sweat on her brow too distracting.
Then came the hiss, followed by the sharp sear of pain.
She gasped and jerked her hand back instinctively. The metal had burned through her glove. Pain shot up her arm like fire, and the world blurred.
The noise caught the supervisor’s attention immediately. He stormed over, his boots echoing on the metal floor. “What did you do?”
“I—” Ferial’s voice trembled. “The handle slipped. I—”
“Do you have any idea how much that part costs?” His growl was loud enough to silence half the line. “You humans are all the same—clumsy and careless.”
Ferial swallowed back tears, clutching her hand to her chest. The skin was already blistering, red and raw.
“Get out of my sight,” he snapped. “Go to the clinic and get that looked at. Bring back a valid slip, or you lose your day’s pay.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He grunted, waving her off like an insect.
Ferial wrapped a piece of cloth around her hand and stepped out into the daylight, the chill biting her skin. She wanted to cry, but tears were useless here. All she could think about was the slip—without it, her wages would be docked, and that meant no dinner for her grandparents.
The clinic wasn’t far, but every step throbbed with pain. The building loomed ahead, gray and cracked, its faded sign barely legible: District Twelve Human Health Center.
Inside, the air reeked of disinfectant and old blood. Humans crowded the benches, coughing, crying, waiting. The only nurse on duty—a tall werewolf woman with a bored expression—barely glanced at anyone. The receptionist and guards were wolves too, standing near the entrance like silent sentinels.
Ferial approached the counter slowly. “Excuse me, I… I burned my hand at the factory.”
The receptionist didn’t look up from her holoscreen. “Fill out the form.”
Ferial stared at the stack of dirty, half-torn papers. “Do you have a pen?”
The woman sighed loudly, finally tossing one across the counter. “You humans always need something. Hurry up.”
She filled in her details with her uninjured hand, each letter a struggle as her burn throbbed. Knowing how to atleast fill in her details was the only mercy they were given. Some form of identity.
The nurse finally called her name—hours later. By then, the sun had shifted, painting the cracked windows in a dull orange.
The examination room was worse. Peeling paint, flickering lights, and a doctor who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He was a tall wolf, his white coat immaculate despite the filth around him.
“Burn?” he asked flatly.
Ferial nodded, showing him her hand.
He barely looked. “Sit.”
She obeyed as he cleaned the wound roughly, the sting bringing tears to her eyes. He didn’t notice—or didn’t care. “You’ll live,” he muttered, wrapping her hand in a thin strip of gauze.
“Will I need any medicine?” she asked quietly.
He glanced at her like she’d insulted him. “You’ll heal. Humans are resilient when they have to be. Next.”
She opened her mouth to protest but stopped when he scribbled on her slip and waved her toward the door. At least she had the paper. That meant food. That meant rent. That another day of survival.
Outside, the air was cool again. Abdie was leaning against the rusted fence, his arms folded. When he saw her, his teasing grin softened. “Hey, you look like hell. Heard from one of the girls what happened. Hectic.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, showing him the bandaged hand.
He whistled low. “That bad, huh?”
“Could’ve been worse. The supervisor didn’t dock me. Yet.”
They started walking home, their steps in sync down the narrow, uneven road. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the evening air, but it was better than the stench inside the clinic.
“So,” Abdie began, “you missed some quality gossip today.”
“Oh?” she asked tiredly. “What now?”
He grinned. “Rona—you know, the one from cleaning—she overheard the enforcers talking during break. Apparently, the Alpha Supreme’s son and his Beta are coming here. To our district.”
Ferial stopped walking. “What?”
“Yeah,” he said, clearly enjoying the attention. “They’re visiting the civic center this weekend. Supposedly giving out food parcels. And get this—actual meat. Not that soy crap we usually get.”
She blinked. “Meat? You’re joking.”
“I swear on my ration card.”
Ferial laughed weakly. “And you actually believe that? Wolves giving humans meat?”
“Maybe they’re trying to look good for the cameras. You know how they love pretending to care.”
“Still,” she said thoughtfully, “if it’s real, we should go. Nana and Papa hasn’t had proper meat in years.”
“Exactly,” Abdie said, smirking. “We’ll grab what we can and run before anyone else catches on.”
She giggled despite herself. “You’d get tackled before you made it three steps.”
“I’m faster than I look.”
“Not with those legs,” she teased. “You’d trip over your own shoes.”
They both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the narrow alleyways. For a moment, it felt like the world wasn’t so cruel—like the two of them could laugh their way through it.
“Imagine,” Abdie said dramatically, “you and me, running off with two whole parcels. Living like kings. Cooking meat on a real stove. Maybe even eating with actual forks.”
Ferial snorted. “And then the wolves would find us and throw us in the pits for stealing from their precious Alpha.”
“Worth it,” he said without missing a beat. “At least I’d die full.”
They laughed again until their sides hurt, though behind the laughter lingered the unspoken truth—they were starving, they were tired, and this hope of food, however small, was something to hold onto.
By the time they reached her apartment, the streets were growing quiet. The patrols would start soon. Ferial winced as she climbed the stairs, her hand throbbing beneath the thin bandages.
“Get some rest,” Abdie said, his tone softening. “I’ll come by tomorrow. Maybe we can plan our grand heist.”
She smiled faintly. “You mean the meat raid?”
“Exactly.” He grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You distract the wolves with your charm, and I’ll grab the goods.”
“Right,” she said, shaking her head. “You’d run and leave me behind.”
“Never,” he said, mock-offended. “I’d come back for you. After I finish eating.”
Ferial laughed, the sound fading as he walked away. Inside, her grandparents were already asleep. She sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over her. Her burned hand pulsed with pain, but she ignored it, staring out the cracked window toward the sky.