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We live and die here.
I know my place, and as I hurry away, excitement fills me at the prospect of getting to return to the quietness of the walled city—a place where I can be me. It’s filled with unknown monsters, but it also has so much life and freedom.
TWO
ARIA
I’m at the meeting place early the next morning. The sun is only just starting to rise, but even that’s too late. If this stranger I have to take into the city needs to go somewhere or do something, it could take all day. It’s not like there are working cars or trains in the city, so you have to walk through the post-war destruction and deserted streets, and I never…
I never stay after dark.
There’s no one around apart from the rats scurrying through the rubbish as I lean against the wall of the shack. No one but me knows the way in, and I plan to keep it that way because I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if someone tried to get through after seeing me and ended up dead. It would be my fault.
There’s a noise, and then a small figure in a dark cloak turns the corner and stops before me. Turning my head, I spit out the flavourless gum I substitute for food when I can’t afford it and push off the wall, walking towards them.
“You’re late,” I snap.
“I was told…” The voice is definitely feminine. It could be worse, I guess. Men tend to be louder and more stupid, and I wouldn’t feel as safe, as sexist as that sounds.
“The sun is up, and we are already behind schedule. If you want through the wall, then we move now. You don’t leave my side, you stay silent unless I talk to you, and you never wander off, understood? If you do, I’ll leave you.”
“I understand,” the delicate, soft voice answers.
“Take off the hood.”
“I… Um, I was told—”
“Take it off.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you or try to get your secrets—I have my own—but I need to know what I’m working with.”
She reluctantly pulls off the cloak, folds it, and places it neatly in her backpack before raising her eyes to meet mine. Her irises are bright grey—it’s a strange colour, but beautiful—and she has long blonde hair. She looks like everything I’m not—put together, clean, and rich. Her clothes are tailored and no doubt expensive, and not one hole shows in the fabric. Yet here she is, needing my help. I wonder why she wants to go through the wall. She doesn’t seem like the type to get her hands dirty, especially not when I spot the black-rimmed glasses in her backpack and her manicured, painted nails.
“Here.” I toss the tattered fabric I clutch in my hands at her. “Tie this around your eyes.” She catches it and holds it far away, her nose wrinkling at the smell. I almost snort. She’s probably from a large, rich city, because she definitely isn’t from the slums. Just great. A snobby princess.
“Why?”
“So you don’t know the way in, duh,” I snap, feeling annoyed. “Stop with the questions and do as you’re told. It might just save your life.”
She swallows and averts her gaze as her cheeks redden in embarrassment. “How will I see?”
“That’s the point—you won’t. You’ll hold the back of my jacket until we are through. Once we’re over the wall, you can remove it. Also, you’re too clean. You know you’re going to get dirty, right?”
She shrugs. “They are just clothes.”
I almost snap. Just clothes? If she only knew. Clothes like that might get her killed around here. I’d have to save most of my life to get those thick, warm, clean garments, and she so carelessly ignored my warning.
Rich idiot.
“Fine, let’s go.” I don’t want to talk to her anymore and show her my envy. I have a million questions, but I know better, because that’s how you end up dead. No, I’ll do my job and stay silent, get my money, and forget this ever happened. When she’s tied the rag around her head, I tug on it sharply to check, making her stumble. She’s clumsy and weak. It’s weird that she’s out here. She’s an easy target, that’s for sure.
Grabbing her delicate, unmarred hand in my callused, dirty one, I press it to the back of my jacket. “Don’t let go at any point. If you get lost, I’ll leave you.”
“What’s your name?” she asks, her lips twisting in worry.
“Aria,” I reply. “What’s yours?”
“Talia,” she offers with a smile.
“Well, Talia, I hope you know what you’re doing,” I mutter and turn, and then I unhurriedly start to move through the side streets. I make sure to slow my usually quick, silent steps so she can keep up without stumbling. Even without the blindfold, she seems like the type. She’s also loud. Her footsteps are heavy, her breaths are deep, and she emits little noises she’s not aware of.
