Chapter 3

POV: Mira

The streets of the Human Quarters were unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, crawling up my spine and settling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t peace—it was the ominous calm of a city holding its breath, waiting for something to break. The cold bit into my fingers through the thin gloves I wore, and I tucked my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that came with every shadow stretching too long, every drone’s hum too loud.

Above me, the drones buzzed in their mechanical patrols, their searchlights slicing through the darkness in clinical arcs. The beams illuminated fragments of the Quarters—piles of broken bricks, sagging rooftops, patches of cracked cobblestones slick with grime. The stark, white light made everything look sharper, harsher. A metallic tang hung in the air, mixing with the faint, acrid smell of burnt circuitry, remnants of an earlier drone malfunction or the lingering effects of a minor scuffle.

My scarf scratched against my chin as I adjusted it, pulling it higher to shield more of my face. I stayed close to the walls, moving through the alleys with care. The buildings loomed over me like silent sentinels, their peeling facades and broken windows giving the city the appearance of something abandoned and forgotten, though the faint murmurs of life persisted behind shuttered doors and closed curtains.

Ahead, the faint sound of voices reached my ears. I froze, pressing myself against the cold, uneven brick of a building. The rough surface scratched my palms as I crept forward, inching closer to the source of the noise. It came from my building, spilling out into the still night air like a warning. My heart clenched.

Jace’s voice rose, muffled but unmistakable. “We can’t just rush into this, Davin. One mistake and it’ll all come crashing down.”

I edged closer to the window, the glass smeared with grime and a crack running through its center. Through it, I could make out the dim outlines of figures in the room. Jace stood near the center, his stance tense, his arms crossed. Davin paced in front of him, his movements sharp and agitated.

“You think I don’t know that?” Davin hissed, his tone low but urgent. “But every day we wait, they tighten their grip. People are starving, Jace. They’re dying. And you want to sit here and plan?”

“I want to make sure we don’t get everyone killed!” Jace snapped back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He turned his head, glancing toward the window as if he could sense someone listening. I ducked lower, peering through the corner of the glass as he continued. “This isn’t a game, Davin. We only get one shot at this. If we fail—”

“Failure is what happens when you hesitate,” Davin interrupted, stopping in his tracks to glare at Jace. “People follow leaders who act. Not leaders who sit around and second-guess every decision.”

The words landed like a blow, and I saw Jace stiffen. His jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he took a measured breath and met Davin’s glare head-on. “We do this my way, or not at all,” he said, his voice steady but hard. “You want to rush in and throw your life away? Go ahead. But if you want to make real change, you follow me.”

Davin’s mouth opened, then closed. The tension in the room thickened, pressing against the thin walls like a physical force. In the corner, Karlon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, watching the exchange with an amused smirk.

“You’ve got fire, Jace,” Karlon said, his tone casual but sharp. “But Davin’s not wrong. People are getting restless. If you drag this out too long, someone else might step up and take your place.”

Jace turned to him, his shoulders squaring. “If they do, they’ll be leading a massacre.”

Karlon shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll be leading a revolution. People don’t wait forever.”

The shadows in the room seemed to deepen as the conversation stretched, the flickering lamp casting jagged lines across the walls. My stomach churned as I listened, my fingers gripping the windowsill tightly. Jace wasn’t just caught between planning and action—he was teetering on the edge of something much bigger than himself. And the cracks in his confidence were starting to show.

From the corner of my eye, I caught movement down the alley. A soft whirring sound made my breath hitch. A drone. Its red light sliced through the darkness, reflecting off the glass of the window and throwing the room into stark relief. Inside, the figures froze, their shadows stark against the walls.

I ducked lower, my pulse pounding as the drone’s light swept past. Its hum grew louder, its movement slower, as if it were scanning for something—or someone. A figure darted across the alley, their silhouette sharp and desperate in the crimson glow. The drone turned sharply, the sound of its gears shifting echoing like a threat. The figure disappeared into the shadows, and the drone hovered for a moment before resuming its patrol.

Inside, the tension had broken. Karlon had moved away from the wall, his posture tense, his eyes flicking toward the door. “We’re drawing attention,” he muttered. “Wrap it up.”

Jace’s shoulders slumped slightly, his face tight with frustration. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Everyone, just—go. Quietly.”

Davin hesitated, his gaze lingering on Jace before he finally turned and walked toward the back exit. Karlon followed, his steps measured, his presence lingering like an unspoken threat. Jace stayed behind, staring at the scattered papers on the table.

I slipped away from the window, my mind racing. The drone was gone, but its presence lingered, a reminder of how close danger always was. By the time I stepped inside, my hands were shaking. The faint smell of broth greeted me, mingling with the stale air of the small living room. My mother was asleep in her chair, her frail frame huddled beneath a thin blanket.

Jace’s door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway. I hesitated, my hand hovering near the frame. Inside, he was bent over the table, his hands pressed to his temples as he stared down at the scattered plans before him. His shoulders sagged under the weight of responsibility, and for a moment, he looked impossibly young.

“Are you sure this will work?” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. He picked up a paper, studied it, then set it down with a frustrated sigh. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair.

“It has to,” he whispered.

I stepped back, my chest tight. Jace wasn’t fearless—he was scared, uncertain, human. And that terrified me more than anything else.