My mother and I have lived like ghosts for a long time. Hidden. Silent. Presumed dead. Even the trees surrounding our tiny shack seem to lean in, their shadows shielding our little hideout. So far, they have kept us safe. But the shack isn't much. And neither are we.

Still, a lesson must be taught to those who break the rules.

I push open the creaking door, the familiar scent of wood smoke and herbs wrapping around me. Damp earth clings to my feet as I step onto my mother's doormat, woven from dry grass. She stands by the hearth, her back to me, stirring a pot over the fire. Strands of silver-streaked hair slip from a loose bun, and her shoulders slump, heavy with years of hiding.

"Hey, Mom, I'm heading out," I announce, passing Uncle Sirius' room before stepping into the shared space between my mother and me. I sling my satchel over my shoulder, avoiding her gaze.

"Aria Thorne, where were you, and where are you going now?" she asks, her voice laced with worry. Her sharp eyes, so much like my own, search me. "You just got back. What's going on?"

I fiddle with the strap of my satchel, hesitant to meet her gaze. "Nowhere important, Mom. I promise. Just some... business to take care of."

Her expression turns skeptical. "Aria, this isn't a joke. What have you been up to with your uncle? Don't think I haven't noticed the two of you's odd behavior lately."

I take a deep breath, reaching for her arm. Her breath stills, and I can sense her concern. "Mom, there's nothing to worry about."

She exhales sharply, crossing her arms. "Aria, you're beating around the bush again," she says, her voice tinged with frustration.

I finally say, " Fine, I'll tell you."

A look of relief spreads across her face and her shoulders relax.

"But soon," I add, holding up a hand. "I promise. I'll tell you when I get back."

Her eyes narrow, but she seems to sense that I'm not going to budge. "Fine. But be careful, Aria. And don't think you're fooling me with that scarf, hood, and the satchel. You're going to town, aren't you?"

I offer a small, knowing smile. "Let's call it a business trip."

Then lean in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being honest with her. "See you soon, Mom."

Before she can change her mind, I slip out of the shack and into the crack of the sun spilling over the sky.
---

The forest gives way to the crumbling edges of Ironclad's district. The air here is thick with soot, the stench of damp stone and decay clinging to everything. Narrow cobblestone streets wind through clusters of leaning apartments, their cracked windows staring blankly like hollow eyes.

The fractured city is a constant reminder of our history. On one side, Veilborne-glimmering, untouchable, a symbol of wealth and power. On the other, Ironclad-weathered, broken, but unyielding. Decades of blood and betrayal have carved a deep divide between the two.

As I step into the bustling market, the press of bodies engulfs me. The voices of traders and townsfolk rise in a chaotic symphony, blending with the clatter of carts and the occasional bark of dogs.

A boy, small and wiry, crashes into me, nearly knocking me off balance. Before I can react, a man barrels past, his boot slamming down on my foot. I bite back a curse, clutching my satchel tighter, scanning my surroundings before checking if my coins are still inside. It's a classic trick, one I've seen before. The little kids run into people to steal their valuables. They've gotten so skilled over the years that they could even steal without you noticing something is gone. Veileborne guards couldn't care less yet they patrol the market. They're not here to protect us, they're here to make sure we remember out place. I sigh a breath of relief to find my coins still in my satchel. Then I bump into something hard again.

A wall in the middle of the market?

No.

A Veileborne guard.

His broad-shouldered, towering over me in polished armor that gleams even in the murky light. His cold, piercing eyes bore into mine, daring me to react.

"Watch where you're going" he sneers, his voice dripping with contempt.

Anger builds tight in my chest, my fingers curling around the strap of my satchel. I don't looks away. 

His sneer deepens. Then, before I can even think, he shoves me---hard.

The impact sends me stumbling backward, knees scraping against rough stone. A few market-goers stop around the scene, others look from afar, but none intervene. Ironclad know better than to get into trouble with a Veileborne guard.

''Don't look at me like that," he spits.

I should lower my gaze, should keep my head down like everyone else. But I don't.

Slowly, deliberately, I rise to my feet, my glare burning into his.\789'

+

A mistake.

His sneer twists into something darker. Before I can even process what's happening, he lunges. 

A rough hand clamps around my throat.

I choke.

His fingers dig in, crushing, unforgiving, as my feet leave the ground. My hands fly to his wrist, clawing, struggling, but his grip is like iron. My legs kick instinctively, the noise in the market dulls. The world tilts and my vision flickers, as the pressure on my windpipe tightens. The guard lifts me higher, effortlessly, his arm barely straining.

"Now tell me, should I arrest you or should I sell you the highest bidder, because I think you'd make a good Veileborne slave."

Then through the haze, I hear a sharp whizz---a crack.

His grip loosens and my body plummets. I hit the ground, gasping, coughing as oxygen rushes back into my lungs. My throat burns, a raw, aching fire, but I'm breathing. I barely register the crowd shifting, and people whispering in stunned silence.

The guard stumbles forward, dazed, holding his head. His fury is immediate.

"Who did that?" he roars, whirling around.

The market holds its breath. No one moves.

Then someone comes to my feet, grabbing my hand. "Now we run."

h

For a moment, I want to lash out, to strike back at the guard. But another part of me knows that would be foolish, that it would only lead to more trouble.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart consumed with anger. I look the guard straight in the eye---taunting I get up from the floor. He lunges forward and I make a run for it through the crowd.

"Get that Ironclad!" He screams behind me.

I risk a glance over my shoulder. He's chasing me, and he's not alone. Two other guards are hot on my heels, their heavy boots pounding against the pavement. My lungs burn as I push myself harder, adrenaline surging through my veins. The train platform comes into view, the train itself just starting to move.

"Come on, give me your hand!" a voice shouts, cutting through the chaos.
I snap my head around, and for a split second, I spot him-a figure in a hood, standing in the open doorway of the moving train. His hand is outstretched, waiting.

I don't think. I just run.
The guards are closing in, their shouts growing louder. Almost there. I leap, my fingers brushing his as he grabs my arm and yanks me forward, pulling me onto the train with a force that nearly knocks me off my feet.
I collapse onto the floor, my chest heaving, my limbs trembling with exertion. The doors slide shut behind me, cutting off the guards' furious cries. For a moment, all I can do is breathe, my heart still racing.

"You alright?" the voice asks, low and steady.

I look up, taking in the figure standing above me. He's wearing the rough, practical clothes of an Ironclad, his hood pulled low over his face. But even in the dim light, I catch glimpses of him-dark, sharp eyes beneath the shadow of his hood, a tousle of hair peeking out. He looks... different.

"Thanks for...back there," I say, trying to sound composed as I push myself to my feet.

He nods, stepping back slightly as if to put space between us. "Right place, right time."

"I couldn't agree anymore."

I know that this is most likely the part where people would normally introduce themselves to each other but neither of us take the initiative to.

"Did you steal something? Is that why they were chasing after you?" he asks, his tone laced with curiosity. With the mask from ear to ear and hood over my head, I don't blame him for assuming I'm nothing but a thief.

I shake my head. "I mistakenly bumped into one of the guards so he thrust me to the floor, and then I challenged him with a staring contest."

"He thrust you to the floor for mistakenly bumping into him?" He says with a shocked incredulity.

"Why are you shocked? That's something a Veileborne guard would do to us."

He nods slowly. "Right." He pauses. "I sometimes forget how cruel they can to us."

I study him, trying to see if I can see more beneath the shadow. There's something there. Something beneath the surface.

"Thanks again," I say, my voice. "If you were not here, I would probably be on my way to prison or my execution rather than taking the Chamber's test."

"You're also taking the Chamber's test?" Although I can't read his expressions completely because of his concealed face but I can tell from his shocked reactions through his voice.

"Yes. You're also on your way to the test?"

There's a long pause before he answers. And for a moment, I wonder if he's going to respond at all. "Yes,  I am," he says finally. His voice low and even.

I nod, processing this new information.  There's something about him I can't quite place. His stance, and the way he carries himself-it doesn't match the Ironclad uniform he's wearing. But before I can think too much about it, he pulls his hood lower, turning toward the window.

The train rattles forward, carrying us away from the crumbling streets of Ironclad heading towards the urban side that the Veileborne claim. And though the stranger doesn't say another word, I can't help but feel like he is also hiding.

The hoodie.
The way he refuses to make eye contact.
The way he doesn't say much.
The way he's hiding under the dim.

***
The Ironclad workers flood off the train as so as it stops. But they don't do it with a sense of purpose, they rush out the train dreadfully. Veileborne won the ruling over the city twice so far, and I can tell their worst nightmare would be Veileborne winning the Chamber test again. However this time it's different. If Veileborne wins once more, it means they'll rule this city forever.

I can't let that happen.

I adjust the scarf covering my face, the fabric snug against my skin. I glance over to the side where the hooded Ironclad boy once stood to find that his no longer there.

How did he disappear that fast?