Ben is, oddly,excitedto meet Josh. This should be a warning. A little light going off in my skull. But it isn’t. Because he is so human tonight. Breathlessly, devastatingly, overwhelmingly human. I’ve stopped thinking of his cybernetic parts, his surgically curated perfection. Because without the dampeners, Ben is ferocious. He is imaginative. He is messy and unrestrained, tempestuous and voracious, burning with so much life that I don’t know how to hold it all. Had I met this man first, he would have awed me down to my socks.
But, in the world he inhabits, these are traits to be ashamed of. Lily doesnotlove this Ben. And she is going out of her way to punish him for becoming him.
The railcar screeches to a halt in front of me, so it must be 7:00 on the dot. I don’t hear him approach.
But I say, “On time is late.”
“Illogical. On time can be only one thing: on time,” Ben says.
Ben Iku is the picture of aboveground nobility. His velvet jacket is immaculate, the kind of deep, rich blue black that must cost a year’s worth of work credits. His cybernetics gleam and throw fragmented reflections across the walls. For a split second, my heart stutters at his profile—the clean line of his jaw. Because, of course, I fall in love with the Grim Reaper. Veryon brandto find a man whose family is hell-bent on getting rid of me and the whole sector.
The cart is impossibly tiny and jolts us to and fro. But we go over our scripts.
The plan is simple: Go to Josh’s apartment. Be very sweet, very humble, and compliment his advancement in life. Get him to invite as many people from the half city as possible to the end-of-year ball. He can testify on behalf of the whole sector. He likes to feel important. So I’ll give him a stage and hopefully he and the masses can convince these elites that they’re outnumbered. And that Ben is in his right mind.
Ben’s eyes have glazed over. “How long is this ride?” His fingers tickle up my thigh.
“Do not even think about it. Just sit,” I say.
He grumbles and looks out the window, but eventually he pulls me onto his lap anyway—just to have me a few feet closer, he says.
We’re here.
We squeeze out of the tiny car, and every eye in the street is on us. I thought Josh’s thirty-second-floor apartment would be penthouse level on a sleek glass-front high-rise. But it is not.
It’s sixty stories of crumbling concrete and rusting metal, the windows like jagged teeth, some broken, others covered with ragged sheets of plastic flapping in the wind. Barely clothed children peek out through the shattered panes on the fifth and sixth floors, their wide eyes hollow and curious. They lean against railings that look too loose to hold their weight. I feel something cold settle in my stomach.
Ialwaysknew they lived differently here. I rush passed the Half-City in railcars. But I still imagined comfort, abundance, something clean and effortless. It’s not the raw desperation of the mines, but it feels worse. Because suffering is painplusmemory. We didn’tknowanother life in the mines.
We were born into hunger, into darkness; they make sure you don’t dream too big.
But up here? Shit…people remember.
Up here, they are left behind, and theyknowit.
That’s the kind of shit that turns people into revolutionaries.
* * *
The elevator wasnota good choice, and I need a stomach settler as I walk into the landing of the thirty-second floor. Ben, who opted for the stairs, is already there, a tiny bead of sweat at his temple.
I start to tumble around with words to say, but we’re at the door now, and Dru throws it open with too much force, her wide smile stretching tight across her face.
“Fawl! Oh my God, how are you?” Her voice is bright, but there’s something brittle underneath, like she’s grinding her teeth.
I step inside. The apartment is…small. Cozy, if you want to be kind. I glance at Dru, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, hiding the gleaming cybernetics that were once her pride. Now she covers them like a shameful secret. I know why. Up here, the shine of our belowground mods is like a neon sign of inferiority. And someone up here made sure she knew it.
“Are you having a good time aboveground? Isn’t it everything?” Dru says.
“No,” I say, my voice quiet. “I don’t love it up here. They treat us like shit.”
Dru’s face crumples for a second before she quickly pulls me into a tight hug, her body shaking against mine. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I’m so sorry, Fawl. Is he cruel?”
When she pulls away, her eyes are wet, lashes spiked. Of all the things I expected to feel tonight, compassion for Dru was last on my list.
“Dru, no.” I turn to look at Ben, who slips his jacket off and fills the room with his clean scent. “Not at all.”
“Josh told me such terrible things. I know that we”—her voice grows quieter—“thatIput you in this position.”
