Chapter 35 What Lurks Within #2
We crawl onto grimy concrete, soaked and shaking. The glamour holds, but our dripping clothes might as well be a spotlight. Kane yanks me into a narrow alley between decaying buildings, where shadows offer thin protection from the eyes that never sleep in this city.
I glance up. Everreach’s towers glint in the distance, detached from the filth below. From here, they don’t resemble progress. They look like gates welded shut.
“Need to move,” Kane pants. “Darkmoor security has got eyes everywhere, even here. Just less of them.”
I try to ignite my ruby, but it flickers, then sputters out entirely. The presence inside me—Astrafel, whatever he is—stirs. Not with anger, but disapproval.
“Here.” Kane extends his hand, a basic-cut ruby ring glowing on his finger. “Standard issue, but it’ll do the job.” Warm air rushes over us, drying clothes and skin. He shoves my pendant in the bottom of the bag and hides his ring in pocket.
“How much time do we have before they realize we jumped?”
“Not long.” Kane peers around the corner, checking the street.
“But we’ve got a shot if we stick to the shadows.
The station’s crowded this time of day, with workers heading home after their shift.
We blend in, keep our heads down.” He grins, and for a moment I see past the glamour to the cunning card shark beneath.
“Maybe we pull off this impossible escape after all.”
I follow him deeper into the maze of the Rift District, leaving the golden towers of my old life behind as the presence in my blood settles into watchful silence.
We slip through narrow alleys, past overflowing dumpsters and scurrying rats. The station looms ahead, a hulking mass of steel and concrete, and I step forward, but Kane’s yanks me back into the shadows.
“What the hell—” His palm slaps over my mouth as he points.
A massive figure in a black coat stands near the station entrance. Seven feet of pure muscle and barely contained violence. Thick scars web across his exposed neck and jaw, trophies from victims who fought back and lost. The crowd bends around him. They don’t realize why. Their bodies just know.
“Smoke,” Kane whispers, voice tight. “Kian’s newest pet project.
Used to be one of the Waste’s most notorious killers until Kian gave him a better outlet for his .
. . talents. No emotion, no mercy. Only pure instinct, and a love for making people break.
Even the other guards are terrified of him.
” His jaw clenches. “They’ve already figured out we jumped. Didn’t expect them to move this fast.”
“What do we do?” My heart hammers against my ribs as Smoke scans the crowd. His head moves in precise increments, those dead eyes cataloging every face with cold efficiency. Even the enforcer patrols give him a wide berth, and these are men trained not to show fear.
Kane surveys the alley, his gaze settling on a rusted sewer grate wedged behind collapsed crates and a crumbling support beam. “There’s an access tunnel on the far side.” He crouches, fingers hooking into the grooves of warped metal. “Hope you weren’t too fond of those clothes.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Very.” The grate groans open, revealing a black tunnel that seems to lead straight into hell. “Ladies first.”
The stench greets me as I crouch down; rot and waste and gods know what else. I gag, yanking my sleeve over my face, but it does nothing to dull the assault. “We’ll reek. Might as well paint targets on our backs.”
“Trust me, princess. I’ve got it covered.” He gestures at the black maw. “Now crawl.”
I lower myself into filth, biting down a curse as cold sludge soaks through every layer. My stomach heaves as I move through the tunnel, trying not to think about what’s actually touching my skin. Each movement sends waves of putrid water splashing against my face.
“You better not be staring at my ass, Kane.” I hiss, aware of him crowding close at my back.
His chuckle echoes behind me, the sound bouncing off the curved walls. “Please. I’ve seen the goods. You were half-clothed and fully feral every time you mounted Dom like he owed you rent.”
“I’m going to murder you if we survive this.”
My palm slips on something soft and unidentifiable, and I nearly go under. My breath shudders out, bile rising.
“Don’t worry, princess. You’re not my type. Harvey’s got a much better ass, anyway.”
“Your boyfriend must be a masochist.”
“Partner. We’re not tied to those labels,” Kane corrects, still amused despite our dire situation. “Just long-suffering affection, and excellent ass appreciation.”
The tunnel stretches forever, and every crawl forward is a lesson in degradation.
Filth clings to my throat, to my thoughts.
Rats dart through the water, shrieking as they vanish into cracks.
My entire body screams with revulsion but I keep moving.
The once-untouchable Ellis heir, gut-deep in sewage and hunted like a feral thing. How poetic.
Something brushes against my calf and I choke on a scream, shoving forward faster.
Finally, Kane taps my ankle. “Up here.”
We surface into a trash-choked alley. The air is acrid, and layered with putrescence and grease, but after the tunnel, it might as well be a breath of freedom.
Kane draws his ruby, and a wave of cleansing magic washes over us—heat rushing across skin, stripping away grime, damp, and stench in a heartbeat.
My lungs expand for the first time in minutes.
I brace against the wall, watching the crowd.
Their clothes are patched, eyes lowered, faces sunken.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have looked twice at them.
Now I’m desperately trying to mimic their defeated slouch, their exhausted shuffle.
Even cleaned up, I am tainted by everything we’ve touched, everything we’ve had to become to survive.
“Ready?” Kane asks.
I nod, my skin still itching with phantom slime. “Let’s get this over with.”
The station hunches under its own weight, metal beams exposed like bones, walls streaked with rust and soot. Workers shuffle toward the entrance in loose herds, dulled by repetition and too many years beneath the city’s heel.
“Slouch more,” Kane hisses as we join the crowd. “You’re still walking like someone who thinks they matter.”
I drop my shoulders, loosen my stride. The elegance drilled into me claws for control, but I force it back. Every move sits wrong on my skin. I’ve spent a lifetime being seen, holding myself as someone worthy of space. Now, I press inward, dull my edge, and blur the shape.
Kane watches me falter slightly on the uneven pavement, lips twitching.
“Better,” he says, satisfied. “Now look tired.”
We merge with the steady stream of workers, our clothes blending seamlessly into the sea of ash-streaked uniforms and sun-faded coats. The station swallows us whole.
Ancient support beams groan overhead, and I wonder how much longer they’ll hold. Probably as long as the Founding Families need them to. Stable enough to keep the workers moving, not comfortable enough to make them want to linger.
Kane’s fingers brush my arm, guiding me toward the turnstile. “Right hand,” he breathes, barely a whisper. “Push, don’t pull. Keep your head down. Match their pace.”
Along the walls, grime-slick HoloScreens pulse with chirping color, animated banners flickering through static. A woman’s face beams down at us, her smile too perfect, her Vale Industries uniform gleaming pristine white as she gestures to charts and graphs.
“Attention, Lower Ring citizens!” Her voice oozes artificial warmth. “Due to the extraordinary success of our medical trials, enrollment in the Vale Medical Initiative is now mandatory for all employees. Together, we build a healthier tomorrow!”
Footage replaces her: workers sitting in tidy rows, sleeves rolled back and necks exposed as injections are delivered with rigor. Their expressions hold no joy, only submission carved into stillness.
“Remember,” the voice continues, “compliance ensures benefits and continued employment. Refusal will result in immediate revocation of both.”
Another screen flashes urgent red with the notice: ALL BLOOD RUBIES MUST BE RETURNED AFTER SHIFT COMPLETION. UNAUTHORIZED POSSESSION WILL RESULT IN DETENTION. CURFEW NOW STRICTLY ENFORCED. PENALTIES HAVE BEEN UPDATED.
“Worse than last time,” Kane whispers. “They used to at least pretend there was a choice.”
Ahead, a child lifts a hand toward the screen. “Mama, is that where you went—”
His mother silences him with a firm grip over his mouth, her eyes rising to the corner-mounted surveillance orb.
The train arrives with a screech of metal that makes me flinch, but Kane’s hand at my back steadies me, guiding us through doors that wheeze shut with hydraulic sighs.
The car fills quickly, bodies pressed together in resigned familiarity.
More HoloScreens inside continue their relentless parade of “good news”: medical breakthroughs requiring test subjects, new security measures for community safety, enhanced curfews to ensure public order.
A woman beside me shifts, her worn sleeve brushing mine.
The fabric’s roughness bites at my skin, a far cry from the silks and cottons of home, and her wrist bears shallow red lines, still healing.
When she catches my glance, she yanks the cuff down and drops her gaze.
No words are needed. Pain is hidden here; fear masked; weakness denied.
“Three stops,” Kane says, his voice brushing my temple. “Then we walk. Glamour gives us two hours once we hit the Lower Rings. If we’re lucky.”
A new advertisement chirps across the screens: “Silva Public Academy announces streamlined education programs! Less theoretical study, more practical skills!” The woman’s artificial smile grows wider.
“Preparing your children for immediate workforce integration. Because their future is Eclipsera’s future!
” The footage shows teenagers in factory uniforms, their faces arranged in manufactured joy as they operate machinery.
A boy near the window presses his palms to the glass, voice hushed in awe. “Mama. The sky-cars.”
His mother pulls him closer, shielding his view. Her eyes stay fixed on the floor.
Outside, the hover-vehicles slice through the dusk, lit with flashing blue. Kane watches their path. “Pray none of those are for us.”
A bored voice cuts through the cabin. “Tickets.”
Every muscle in me locks.
“Keep moving,” Kane whispers. “Don’t stop. No ticket means interrogation if they grab us.”
I push through the crowded car, trying to match the exhausted shuffle of the other passengers. Kane’s palm presses lightly against my back, guiding me with subtle urgency. In the window’s reflection, the inspector weaves closer, scanner in hand, expression flat and unreadable.