"We're going to get caught if you don't stop moving."

"Well it's going to rain, and I don't want to get wet."

I roll my eyes and look up at the sky. There are a few small, grey clouds, but not enough to warrant any concern.

"Finn, it's not going to rain before we're done, if it even rains at all,." I say, exasperated. Loading days are already hard enough, and doing anything with Finn is so mentally taxing that he's always begged not to go out on jobs. Not that he minds. The lazy fool would gladly sit around all day, i. If it wasn't for the fact he'd be on his own in the streets if he didn't pull his weight.

"Where are all the Aurelians?" Finn asks. "They're usually crowding the whole city today."

"As if I haven't noticed our suppliers aren't here," I reply.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd? They never miss a day." As Finn speaks, his voice becomes louder. He's oblivious, of course, to the strange glances pedestrians give to the talking bush.

I clap a hand over his mouth. "Finn, be quiet. The city guard already has it out for me. I don't need you getting me caught." I shake him a bit for good measure and resume my search for an ignorant Loader.

"How is this even going to work? It's not like they're going to hand out their money to us."

"Were you not listening to anyone before we left?" I ask incredulously. He has the gall to shrug. I stare at him, considering how much trouble I'd get into if I shoved him in front of a speeding horse. "The nobility are too wealthy for their own good," I remind him. "Our sector's got the highest-quality goods sold, meaning more Loaders. Sometimes they'll get careless with their purse and happen to lose a few coins here and there."

Finn stares at me blankly. "What do you mean?"

I groan. How is it possible for someone to be this dense? "On the off chance they notice their pockets are a little lighter, they'll assume they bought an overpriced necklace or left their change at a seamstress. While a little extra money means the world to us, it's another tax for them to add on," I add bitterly.

In the distance, the clocktower bell rings through the air nineteen times. I groan and shift my position. It's been three hours since Finn and I came to the market. It should have been a one-to-two-hour task of bumping through a few nobles, keeping our heads down. Then we'd return with enough money to last our crew at least a month. But Finn and I have been crouching behind the same bush for hours, waiting for even one Loader to walk by.

"Where are they?" I mutter. Along with the lack of nobles, it appears everything has lost its life today.

The vendors - regularly yelling over one another and vying for the attention of customers - cry out half-heartedly, as if skeptical they will sell anything at all and may as well save their energy. Usually, children run around the stalls and chase after one another in their games, but they don't run as fast today. They seem tired and play like it's a chore. The people - always bustling from one seller to another while constantly chattering - are abnormally quiet, shuffling from one stall to the next with their eyes half open. It's like the lack of nobility gracing us with their scheduled presence has leached the world dry of its energy.

Only the city guard act normally. They prowl through, eyes scanning everything and anything, searching for someone to cause a problem with. The guards assume they are above the rest of us Standards. Although, all are Standards like us, the crest of Rioda printed on their grey chests give them the twisted ideal the rest of us are worthless.

One guard with an especially malicious expression sets his eyes on a nearby woman's bosom . He smirks and nudges the guard next to him. The two stare at the woman and launch into a conversation about herthe woman, based on their gestures and expressions. The woman notices and glances down at her chest, then back at the guards. She meets their eyes and they give her an awful grin. She puts her head down, cheeks flaming, and rushes away. The guards laugh for a bit and move along, looking for another to harass.

My temper rises. It's all too common that the guards take on that sense of authority and abuse it with no repercussion. Supposedly here to keep the peace and ensure the safety of Standards. We would be better off without them. Their inflated sense of superiority is almost matched with those of the nobility. The only difference is that the guards don't discriminate on who to victimize. It's always whoever is unfortunate enough to fall in their path.

Out of nowhere, a carriage runs past Finn and I. Finn falls over and I yank him up by the collar of his shirt. The horses sped by so fast I couldn't get a proper view of the coach. But it doesn't matter. Loaders come in packs like wolves.

"Finally," I sigh.

The horses halt a few yards away from our bush, but the carriage is at an angle where only the rear is visible. I still can't see the crest. It's fine, I tell myself.

But I can't help getting a strange feeling about its arrival. The solid black carriage is unadorned except for a thin gold design along the bottom, swirling and curling its way around. From what I glimpsed of the horses, their coats are pure, gleaming white.

Although I despise anything to do with the nobility, I have to admit how elegant the carriage is. Simple, yet beautiful. A first for the Aurelians. Nothing is simple with them.

The carriage door opens and I crouch lower in the leaves. A city guards rushes over to the occupant, and I barely make out the sight of him holding the door. The sound of feet landing onto the street follows with an ice-cold breeze blowing through, out of place in the late summer day, shaking me to my core. I nearly gasp from the shock and bite my tongue.

I look around to see if anyone else felt the strange wind, but no one seems to be affected. Yet, something else seems to have come over the people. The idle, spiritless beings are no more. In their place is the usual, bustling, energetic crowd flitting from stall to stall and talking with one another. Children dart around individuals to get to each other.

But something is still off. The crowd radiates an uneasy feeling. They move carefully and deliberately, as though one wrong move could break them. The children look before they step, hesitate before touching the others, like they aren't sure if they are about to grab a friend or foe. Thunder rolls in the distance, as if it isn't sure if it's allowed to advance.

"Do you see this?" I turn to Finn who has his eyes fixed on the carriage.

"Yea, but where are the others? I don't think these have much on them. Just look at that carriage. It's so plain. They're probably one of the lower ranks.

"Not that." I grasp his head and force him to watch the marketplace. "Look, don't you see anything unusual?"

He shrugs. "No, it all looks normal to me, other than the fact that there aren't any Loaders."

I roll my eyes. Of all people, of course Finn wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary if it didn't relate to himself.

I glance at the marketplace and groan. The number of guards have somehow tripled. Even if we don't draw any attention to ourselves, returning to the warehouse is going to be hard.

As I rack my brain for a way to escape, something snaps to my right.

My heart stops. With Finn at my left, there's no one else here. I grab my knife and swivel to the right. Just as I'm about to gut whatever is in front of me, I look up to see a terrified Finn, his hands thrown up in front of him. I pull my knife back at the last second, less than an inch from his stomach.

"Finn," I hiss. "Why did you switch sides? We agreed on this; don't move unless I tell you otherwise."

I try to keep my breathing under control. I don't want Finn to know how shaken I am. Everything about today is putting me on edge. It doesn't feel right.

"Well, why did you try to stick me?" hHe demands.

"Instinct."

Finn's face flushes bright red. His attempts at making a coherent sentence in anger are laughable, and I shush him. He faces forward again, fuming. A satisfied smirk finds its way to my lips. Finn becomes furious whenever I reply to him with instinct because he assumes I'm writing him off whenever I answer like that. In his defense, I usually am.

I roll my shoulders and wrap my fingers around the pendant beneath my shirt. Discreetly, I slip my knife back into the slit in my pants on the inside of my left thigh with my free hand. All my pants – or, at least the two pairs I own – have the same incision in the same place, courtesy of Kaya. One of the few people who truly know me.

I don't have to worry about Finn noticing the knife's place. He's gone back to staring at the sky, watching for a sign from above to signify his impending doom of a rainstorm.

"Can we go already?" Finn whines. "They're not coming today. We're wasting our time sitting here."

I resist the growing urge to slap him. "Finn, do you think I've been crouching here for hours on end, without food or water and risking getting caught by the guards, to spend time with you? Because trust me, I'm not. No, I am here so we don't risk freezing to death or starvation in the coming weeks. But hey, if you want to, we can leave."

"Really?" Finn looks at me eagerly, hazel eyes wide with anticipation.

"Yea. But you are going to be the one to tell everyone the reason we'll be struggling is because you got tired and bored.. Oh, and, God forbid, you could have gotten a little rain on you. So, since you knew best - based on your experience of about, oh let's see, zero Loading Days - you decided it would be best if we gave up and left." I shrug.

Finn's brows furrows as he contemplates my words, or at least the ones that managed to get through his thick skull. He begins to speak, but I glare at him. He thinks better of it and turns around.

I roll my eyes for what must be the hundredth time today. Although he's only about a year younger than me at sixteen, he's a complete moron. I'm pretty sure he knows it, too and uses it to his advantage. He evades undesirable jobs and tasks that require actual effort by screwing up. Eventually, he isn't trusted to do about anything without constant supervision. He's assigned cleaning, safe and simple enough that he won't mess up.

Somehow, he manages to get the work done fast and efficiently, securing his place with the rest of us. Yet, today it was decided Finn needed to contribute more and he had to do other various tasks. With my fantastic luck, I was nominated to have the honor of accompanying Finn to his first official Loading Day.

Raised voices from the carriage grab my attention. The guard who rushed over earlier backs into view. The sunlight glints off the beads of sweat dripping down his face and his hands twist into explanatory gestures, lips forming rapid words. I assume the guard is ordered to return as his feet drag him back to the Aurelian.

A voice begins to rise until the speaker is yelling, and I catch a few wordsing. "– easier like this. You are required to do as I command. I am –" the words become muffled, but I can make out the tone of the voice. It sounds as though someone has covered the speaker's mouth with a pillow, erasing the words but not the sound. As if a sort of sound barrier is in place...

A chill runs down my back as the Aurelian's purpose slams into me. Another Transfer.

I force myself not to bolt from behind the bush and race back to the warehouse. I'm stuck with Finn, and with the stress of the approaching Transfer he'll be flighty. If he's caught, I'd be responsible for losing a member of the crew. Not that it would be much of a loss.

"Finn, we've got to go."

He eyes me apprehensively. "Are you messing with me?"

"No, I'm not. Haven't you noticed the noise from the carriage?"

"Well, I haven't really paid much attention to it." Hhe tilts his head towards the carriage, the words shielded by the barrier. It takes a couple of minutes before it clicks, and his eyes widen in fear. "Oh, no," he whispers. "Not today."

I nod grimly. Even Finn knows the signs of a Transfer: no Loaders, an influx of guards, and Aurelian power used in our presence, albeit subtly. It was drilled into him when he first came to us, as was everyone else. Transfer days are risky for anyone nearby.

The Transfer doesn't explain the odd, nervous Standards, but I can't think about that now. Finn and I are pressed for time. Guards are vigilant and demand to search anyone and everyone. Certain sectors, sometimes the entire city, is put on lock down.

A Transfer has never been done on a loading day, though. They take place on the less crowded market days. Where there aren't many about, either working or at home, keeping witnesses to a minimum. It's not often anyone besides the child's family to see a Transfer take place. But word spreads faster than the plague in cities with not much to do to pass the time. However, details get muddled as whispers pass from mouth to mouth. Families' lips are sealed with gold to keep the truth hidden. The promise of an improved lifestyle for a year enough to push down their sorrow and move on.

A few desperate ones sell out their neighbours, even their children, for a reward. Some try getting away with framing others, but they end up lacking the ability to spread lies without their tongues to form them.

There are ones who refuse the jingling bags of treachery, who possess the will to speak the truth. But they don't live around here anymore. Or at all.

Some people want to see the process of a child recognized as a Transfer. Evidence Aurelians aren't the only ones who have power, although it is rarely on display. The monthly claims of the King that being a Transfer is a great privilege and honor attempt to ease the anger brought by the stolen children. The statements worm their way into the minds of many, but rumors of the horrid process dampen anyone's willingness to accept it easily. But what's done is done, and we all move on. Most of us.

Those who wish to witness the revelation of a Transfer and their ability have no idea how lucky they are. They don't know how fortunate they are to have never seen the reality of it. Of taking an innocent life and snuffing it out in a few minutes. Memories struggle to resurface and I force them as far down as possible. But echoes of screaming and fighting and begging and crying pulse in my head.

"Lynn? What do we do?" Finn's voice snaps me back to our current situation.

My fingers brush against the pendant tucked beneath my shirt, aching for a thread of comfort. Then I speak. "Listen to me very carefully, you screw this up and we're dead. You will follow every and any instruction I give you if you want to get out of here without any problems. Got it?" I don't break eye contact with him as his head bobs up and down. I'm not exaggerating when I say we're as good as dead if anything goes wrong and we're caught. Anyone discovered leaving a sector on lockdown is immediately screened to determine if they're a Transfer. Sometimes a Relict is discovered through the screenings. Only a couple of them are found each year, as all children with abilities are whisked away from their lives.


I don't know how they weed out Transfers, but they always manage to grab them. Sometimes, a few get away and end up as Relicts. They can't become a Transfer, since the success rate for a Transfer tapers off at the age of thirteen. For Aurelians, though, they're still able to grab abilities until fifteen. As usual, everything plays out to their benefit.

"Lynn, there are more."

"What?"

"The guards, there are more than earlier. What's going on?" Finn points to the market and my jaw drops.

Somehow, even more guards have crowded the area. Everyone's pushed so close together that people are nearly spilling over each other.. My eyes stray to the shiny gold pistols strapped to the belts of the many guards. Eager fingers hover over the deadly triggers. I curse under my breath, recognizing nearly half the guards. It's going to take a miracle to get out of here.

I take a deep breath. "All right, Finn, I can't believe I'm saying this, but thankfully you're with me today instead of someone else."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't get excited. It's only because you've never actually done a job other than maid duty. You won't be recognized, just irrelevant. Nothing new."

He starts to respond to my jab, but I push forward before he can get a word out. "You've never been this far from the warehouse and you'll get lost trying to go back on your own, so follow my every word. You are going to make your way to the back entrance, near the alley – you know where that is, right?"

Finn nods.

"Good. That part's never crowded, so not many guards will be watching there. You're have to hurry. Once they go into lockdown, we're screwed." His head dips again, understanding the severity of our situation. Neither of us want to experience the excruciating Relict tests. And after that happy experience, we'd have the two options given to Standards. Either bribe the guards for a quick release or remain in custody for a while. In my case, being a 'favorite' of the guards, I'd immediately be locked up for a couple months, maybe longer. There aren't laws protecting prisoners. The guards are free to carry out with their abuse and the extent of their 'disciplinary' action isn't limited.

I wouldn't be in as much danger if I didn't take every opportunity to make life hell for the guards. A few of my actions in the name of retribution cycle through my mind. 'Dropping' a beehive through the window of their barracks in the middle of the night. Having them chase and apprehend a wanted criminal, me, around in the snow after said criminal set off the alarm in the barracks in the middle of the night. Only to find out the person they caught was a scarecrow on wheels covered in old cloak.

All in all, the guards have reason to hate me – damn security cameras – and they wouldn't hesitate to toss me in a cell for a while.

Looking back at the market, I notice something odd. A strange smoke hoversing an inch or two above the ground. It's a greyish fog, but near impossible to see it as it fades in and out of existence. I watch as it thickens aevery few seconds.

As the smoke darkens, the crowd becomes more agitated, as if with each blackening shade, the people become a bit more unhinged. Vendors scream manically, almost throwing their wares onto other. People reach at stalls, grabbing at things they could never afford with crazed faces. Children sprint and tackle each other.

The only normal ones are the guards, still walking around with an air of entitlement. They act as though everything is ordinary.

"Finn, tell me you see this," I say in disbelief .

"See what?" Out of the corner of my eye, Finn looks at me as if I'm the one who has lost their mind. "What are you talking about?"

"How can you not see that?" I fling my arm out to the market. "They've gone insane!"

"Uh, no, I think you have."

I cross my arms and open my mouth to fire back when the sound of a whip cracking splits the air.

For a moment, everything is silent.

Then the market refills with energy, but this time it's normal. Everyone seems to be fine. Shoppers calmly go from stall to stall chatting with each other. Children play with ease, breezing by and laughing. Even the smoke has vanished.

For a moment, I question whether I imagined everything. But then I see disheveled clothing and wild hair. Yet people straighten themselves out, not confused as to how they ended up in such a state. There are still a multitude of guards and the carriage is still there, but no noise comes from it. They must be starting soon.

"Finn, go now. Don't stop anywhere, don't talk to anyone. Keep your head down and run. Quickly, they could start the Transfer any minute. Don't leave the alley until I get there, no matter what."

Finn nods and slips out. He jogs across the road separating me and the market and merges with the crowd.

I survey the line of stalls, searching for somewhere free of guards. Thankfully, I spot a clearing near the edge of the market. Rising, I head for the road, eager to to leave. Suddenly, my legs give out from beneath me. Crouching behind a bush for hours on end has left my legs painfully stiff and I sit for a minute with my legs out in front of me. The stiffness subsides and I straighten, sprinting across the road.

Slowing to a stop, my nose wrinkles the odor of old, rotting garbage permeating the air. The absence of light and haphazard stacking of trash block out a considerate amount of the sun's glow, giving the place an eerie shadow. I fail to suppress a shiver, not from the oddly cold breeze belonging to winter weeks away, but the darkness. As the night threatens to capture the sun, shadows grow, promising to envelop all who are unfortunate enough to unknowingly wander into its smothering embrace. I despise the dark. It is a haven to monsters of the past and present, and many times the future.

I make my way out of the minefield of filth, stepping over stray bags that missed their mark. After an alarming number of near missteps questionable substances, I stumble into the wave of people that seem to grow by the minute.

A cold mist wraps itself around my ankles and I look down sharply, the sight enough to lock me in place. I barely feel the mass of people pushing and shoving past me as I stare at the smoke shrouding my feet. Ripping my gaze from my feet, I whip my head around, searching if the smoke has chosen only me as its victim. I find it has laid itself like a blanket, a few inches off the ground across the paths and through the stalls. Everywhere.

A stinging sensation where the fog hugs my bare legs fails to capture my attention as my eyes dart to everyone and everything. The memory of what happened mere minutes ago with the wild crowd is fresh in my mind. Yet everyone seems to be fine, and the burning at my legs becomes so fierce that I finally acknowledge it and look down. I try to raise my foot, but the smoke has other ideas. I struggle to break free of the force, but the gas is reluctant to release its hold.

Finally, I manage to yank my foot up, and a sudden, severe wave of pain hits me, causing me to cry out. An angry red welt wraps around my leg, where smoke met flesh. My skin feels like someone held a torch to it. I blink back tears of pain, the sight of my seemingly burned ankle giving way to a bout of panic.

Against my wish to stay as far away from the smoke, I slowly lower my leg. I bite my lip as my skin protests further contact with the harmful substance and another wave of agony is my reward. I study the horde of people. The smoke touches them, but they seem unfazed. Panic claws its way up my throat. Why am I the only one hurt? Why doesn't anyone else see the smoke?

Then, as if triggered by my thoughts, the past begins to repeat itself as the crowd begins to stir. I watch the faces around me and witness an up-close version of the disturbing expressions I viewed at a distance earlier. The movements of bodies become stiff and forced, as though each person is fighting to keep control of their actions. If I thought what I saw earlier was frightening, then this is downright terrifying. All around me, I watch as everyone seems to have collectively lost their hold on sanity.

As the crowd grows restless, the smoke thickens and rises until everything below my knees is hidden.. The situation settles into a ball of fear in my chest. I've got to get Finn. I've got to leave. I duck my head down, careful about being recognized, and head to where Finn should be.

I glance up to make sure I'm headed in the right direction and spot a guard walking towards me. I dart to the side and hide within the colorful fabrics of a stall. Peering out from the soft material, I breathe a sigh of relief when he's gone. But an odd detail about the guard stands out: he was undisturbed, like the guards earlier. The usual stance of the head held high and the superiority exuding from him was like every other day. He was also headed in the opposite direction of the crowd, who for some reason are all strangely heading in one direction: the center of the market.

The fact only adds to my dread and anxiety and my heart thumps in my chest. I leave the stall and continue my way to Finn, clutching my pendant.

My head snaps back.

I cry out and fall to the ground, the force of the pull leaving my body with no choice other than to follow the hand dragging me down by my hair. I lie on my back, the smoke stinging my face with cold needles. A disconcerting face looms over me, blurred by the smoke and a black fog behind him.

The man holding releases his grip on my hair only to make a grab for my face. I roll away and leap to my feet, kicking him in the chest and sending him crashing into the wooden poles of the stall I hid in moments before.

Along with everyone else, the man seemed out of control of his actions, and a hint of guilt finds its way into me. But the feeling is overridden by the renewed agony coursing through my body. The smoke to covered me completely when I fell, resulting in pain, pain, pain everywhere. My arms are red and aggravated, every inch of bare skin stinging and burning. Even my eyes are irritated, and I rub at them frantically. It hurts, everything hurts and all I want is for it to go away.

Shrieks emanate from the air. The screeching is a wail of agony brought by years of endless torment. The noise becomes louder, all yelling and incoherent sounds. The intensity rises and rises, and I clamp my hands over my ears, clawing at them in an attempt to block out the endless cacophony.

It doesn't stop, nothing stops, and they're all pulling and screaming and I'm about to go under and lose myself in the pandemonium."I just want to leave!" I scream. And it's all chaos and mayhem that offer no promise of respite. Then suddenly, once again:The sound of a whip cracking.The crowd calming down as if nothing was wrong.The smoke fading away.After a moment, I tentatively lower my hands and look around. It's the same as before. No one realizes how insane they were moments ago. I notice I'm near the center of the market and slap my palm against my forehead. The current of bodies must have steered me here. I turn, prepared to leave this place when I hear:

The sound of glass shattering.

The screaming of terror and pain.

All hell breaks loose.