Ezra coughed through the night, and it worsened as morning drew near. Their close neighbours would wonder which of the Shepherds carried such an ailment.

  She had her head buried in the toilet bowl, her body trembling with the harsh morning frost. Her arms looked as if they’d been dipped in tar, and Maselli wondered if Black Syrup could do anything for her at this point.

  When he stepped closer, she stopped retching and lifted her head. Lines patterned her face, with red bags under her eyes. Despite it all, she still tried to hold on to a cheerful look.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to sound collected.

  She tried to respond, but the cough broke through. She gave up on speaking. The longer the silence stretched, the closer she came to tears. Maselli ventured nearer. She reeked, a testament to her recent days.

  “Have you seen the triangles I painted in the cabinet?” she asked, sticking out her tongue and showing off strings of black saliva. “I used my finger and a bit of this. They’re probably gone by now.”

  “Did the spells make you invisible?”

  “They snuck me into the fourth dimension,” she said. “I could see the soldiers through the walls.” She rested the back of her head on the toilet rim. “I’m leaving for another dimension.”

  “If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “I knew you’d say that. You’re too dumb to understand that when I’m gone, I’m not gone-gone. Just gone. Like next-door neighbours separated by three or four planes of reality.”

  “Three or four?” Maselli’s voice cracked. “I want none between us, Ezra.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Her dull eyes flashed with colour for the briefest second before dimming again. Too weak to stand on her own, she leaned on him as they took slow steps out of the bathroom. She crawled back into bed and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

  Mari still lay asleep on the couch, refusing to share a bed with Aron. Their father had returned home late the night before.

  “We’ll give Ezra one special day tomorrow,” Aron had said. “Don’t go anywhere, because she might not be around when you return. You don’t want to live with that for the rest of your life.”

  The words hit Maselli so hard they kept ringing in his ears. The fear of coming home only to learn she was gone was enough to cripple him for hours. He understood the risk; he had weighed the consequences, but he would do what he had to do.

  Pen and paper in hand, he sat behind the dinner table, writing down his thoughts for Hanna. Ironically, she would have been the one to help him write this. Once, back in school, when he fell in love with Danica, it was Hanna who helped him draft a love letter. They never got a reply.

  Ten minutes in, Maselli had managed only a single paragraph. Reading it through, he crossed it out and started over. He crushed the last attempt and tossed it into the bin.

  “You are Henrikia’s next Gaverian,” the TV blared. “Take a shot of ascension for ten thousand kliqs.”

  “I know,” Maselli muttered. He stepped outside for what might be the last time. The church bells rang for morning prayers, but no one cared. God had lost His popularity among the Blackens and might never win their favour again.

  He knocked on Zerah’s door. She stepped out with her toothbrush in her mouth, still in her nightie. She eyed him up and down. “What do you want?”

  “Haven’t eaten since yesterday,” said Maselli, patting his flat stomach. “Do you have some oats?”

  A small bowl of steaming oats sat between them, two spoons set at opposite ends. The baby lay on Zerah’s mattress, fast asleep, unchanged since the last time Maselli saw him.

  “You’re always up to something,” she said. “I heard you were wrestling with your brother last night. What’s your plan for today?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “My neighbours hate it when I drag them into my problems.”

  “So you’d drag me in instead.”

  “You sound excited.”

  “It beats doing nothing all day.” Ezra would understand that. “But I doubt you came here just to ask for a favour.”

  “Just one, for my brother. I want you to take him out for a picnic in the bomb shelter or a walk around the minefields. Then bring him back here and cook something tasty for the both of you. He’s very shy, so engage him—get him to open up.”

  “Lucky me,” she said. “I’ve been eyeing your baby brother for a while now.”

  His jaw dropped. She chuckled, scooped some oats with her spoon, and leaned across the table and stuffed it in his mouth. “Don’t use your brother as an excuse to ask me out. I’m not going out with you,” she said. Maselli didn’t correct her. She would realise soon enough that he had meant it literally. That was the sweetest part of dying: all problems ceased to matter, as true peace belonged only to the dead.

  He readied himself to leave.

  “Wait a moment.” She hurried to her ransack and pulled out some money. “Do you have enough to spend on lunch?” she asked, handing him twenty kliqs.

  “The canteen gives us food.”

  “Aren’t you sick of eating beans every day? Take this and buy something else.”

  “You’re wealthier than I imagined,” said Maselli, shirking away.

  “I have to repay you for that dinner somehow.”

  “Sharing your breakfast with me makes us even,” he said. “Please, I can’t accept this.”

  “I want you to.” She pressed the money into his palm. “Take care of yourself.”

  She walked him to the door. Jeromy stood waiting on the other side, hand raised to knock.

  “You’re already here,” said Zerah. “I’m not quite ready.”

  “Huh?” Jeromy looked to Maselli for clarification, but found none. Turning back to Zerah, he gasped and clapped a hand over his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to look.”

  Zerah blinked in confusion until Maselli explained her nightie was too short. She rolled her eyes at Jeromy and went back inside. Even after a minute, Jeromy was still covering his face, forcing Maselli to promise Zerah was indoors. Losing patience, Maselli walked away—only to be chased down by his brother again.

  “I don’t care what Aron says,” Maselli said. “Go back and tell him I’m not coming home.”

  “I’m not here because of Aron. You’re up to something, and I want to help.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Maselli needed Jeromy’s help. He needed someone to bring home the money he planned to earn from the I.A.A. today.

  No one joined them behind the Ring. At any moment, Maselli expected a shout from the apartment blocks, someone yelling at the two boys not to leave for the Farm. They waited and waited. No one stopped them when the portal opened.

  Life on the Third Farm had dwindled to nothing. Yesterday, workers had refused to show up, and today even the Green Officers were nowhere to be found. The ocean waves splashed against the rocky shore, echoing off empty metallic structures. A barber slumped in his chair, head tilted back, eyes closed. On the first floor of a two-storey building, a breakfast café still operated. One senior officer sat at a round table while a server took his order.

  All the while, Maselli wondered how to address the elephant walking between them. It was irresponsible to let Jeromy follow him to the I.A.A. without first telling his brother he didn’t plan on returning from the research facility. Maselli stopped walking.

  “Jeromy, listen. You’re going to have to be strong from now on. For Ezra…”

  Jeromy looked at Maselli. Maselli looked at Jeromy. Then they both stared at the open road.

  Jeromy bolted.

  Maselli screamed after him and charged, but Jeromy only widened the gap. They tore through the streets toward the I.A.A. mega-building. Jeromy veered into an alley, cutting left, then right. Eyes burning, lungs on fire, Maselli kept the chase alive.

  They raced down stairs, sprinted across a bridge, leapt six steps, rolled hard, slid under a wire fence, and darted through another alley. Jeromy stayed just ahead, closing in on the I.A.A. fence.

  Soldiers in red spotted him and reached for their guns. Jeromy slowed, raising his hands in surrender. The guards opened the gate and ushered him in, slamming it shut just as Maselli reached it.

  “Get out of there!” Maselli screamed, slamming the fence. “I’m the one—take me!” His chest heaved; his heart pounded. He rattled the fence harder.

  “Easy, boy,” a soldier said. “Plenty left for everyone.”

  “No!” Maselli shouted. “Get him out! He’s not supposed to be here!”

  The commotion stalled the soldiers from moving Jeromy away. Soon a crowd gathered. More soldiers pressed in around the gate.

  “What seems to be the problem?” A commanding voice cut through the noise.

  The Red Officers parted, revealing a man in a white lab coat, his jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail. Maselli had seen those violet eyes before—in documentaries about secret experiments, laboratory tests, and superpowered mutants.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Doctor Leonard Aureate.

  Staring into the eyes of an ascender could unmake a weak mind. Leonard Aureate was the younger brother of the legend Genevie Aureate, a former Gaverian. Unlike Master Deus, this man was more myth than reality. Maselli could hardly believe he was standing here, breathing the same air.

  “What’s the problem?” the ascender asked.

  “It’s my brother, Sir,” said Maselli, rage buried beneath his voice. “He’s not supposed to be here. I came for myself, and he tried to sabotage me.”

  Doctor Aureate glanced at Jeromy, pinned by a soldier. “Is this true?” he asked.

  Jeromy shook his head, and Maselli screamed again, slamming the fence.

  “Alright,” Aureate said, clapping once. “That’s enough.”

  The shouting died, but the hostility remained. Their one chance to earn enough money—and the idiot was ruining it for both of them. Maselli swore he would strangle Jeromy the moment they got thrown out.

  Doctor Aureate ordered the soldiers to bring Jeromy forward. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Thirteen, Sir,” Jeromy answered.

  “You started work on the Farm this year. Are you willing to die young?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Jeromy, don’t test me,” Maselli snapped, tears burning his eyes. “If you try me, I’ll kill you today.”

  “You heard your brother,” said Aureate. “He’ll kill you after the drug kills you. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Give my compensation to him after I’m done,” Jeromy said. “I don’t mean to rush you, Sir, but can we do it now?”

  The soldiers guffawed, and even the doctor chuckled.

  “You came for money?” Aureate said. “How honest. This is the first time I’ve heard of anyone taking the shot for that reason. Very interesting. If it’s easy money you boys are after, then you’ve come to the right place.”

  He gestured for the soldiers to open the gates and let Maselli into the facility.

  The I.A.A. building had one of the largest compounds on the Third. An entire village could have fit inside with room to spare. Large white tents—like those the Henrikian Health Service brought to the communities in the UCL—stood scattered across the grounds. Black-and-gold flags whipped against poles. Red Corps soldiers loitered everywhere: some rode in slow-moving pickups, others ambled about in pairs, while a few sat under the tents with nurses and practitioners surrounding them.

  They passed one tent where a nurse jabbed a needle into a soldier’s arm. The man grunted, flexing his fingers. He didn’t swell up and explode, nor did his eyes blaze until they burst.

  The doctor led Maselli and Jeromy through the compound until they reached a tent furnished with two chairs and an array of equipment. Spreading a hand toward them, he invited the brothers to sit.

  Jeromy moved, but Maselli pulled him back. “We want to know everything first,” Maselli said. “What are you injecting us with, and how much are we making?”

  “Sit,” said the doctor.

  He circled the tent, running his fingers over the ice chests lined along the tables. Then he stepped outside, leaving the two boys alone. When Jeromy spoke, Maselli gave him the silent treatment, instead reading the labels stamped on the chests: A-141, DIV-3, B-135, SUB-88.

  Two nurses in white entered, Leonard following behind them.

  “What do you know about ascension?” the doctor asked, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the Shepherd brothers. “You’ve heard it’s lethal to an ordinary human. Once it gets into your system, it raptures every organ within twelve hours. That much is true—” he paused, “—but it doesn’t have to be.”

  “What do you mean?” Maselli asked.

  “I’ve been working on alternatives for quite some time now. Finding subjects to test them on has been… difficult.” He seethed. “The Lady Balancer has forbidden me from using earthens in my experiments. She never said I couldn’t use you—if you come willingly.”

  “What are you going to do to us?” Maselli asked, watching as one nurse drew golden liquid from a glass bottle into her syringe.

  “Inject you with ascension—but not in its purest form.”

  “What are our chances of survival?”

  “Well,” the doctor began, “three out of four of the people I tested exploded within an hour.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a joke,” the doctor laughed. “You’re my first subjects. If you make it past the hour, I’ll have my conclusions.”

  “And how much do we make?”

  “A hundred kliqs each,” said Leonard.

  Maselli brushed the nurse off and stood, pulling Jeromy up with him.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” the doctor chirped. “Don’t leave yet.”

  “We’re not stupid, Sir,” said Maselli.

  “Yes, I know—and I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “But this isn’t technically state-funded. I can’t pay you what the government promises. Hell, the government can’t pay what the government promises.”

  “You can do a lot better than a hundred each,” said Maselli. “Triple it.”

  “I’ll double it—and throw in a free lunch… if you’re still alive.”

  “Pay us two-fifty each and keep your lunch.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Fine. Pay us two-fifty—but if one of us dies, you don’t pay us at all.”

  “Deal,” said the doctor, amused.

  No matter how disappointed he was in his brother, Maselli couldn’t spend what might be their last moments giving Jeromy the cold shoulder. His actions were reckless, yes—but also admirable. Maselli never imagined his baby brother had that much courage. He tried to smile, but the expression fell away. Why did it feel like Jeromy was about to die?

  The needle slid into Maselli’s upper arm. The liquid snaked through his veins, searing his chest, smouldering his heart. His skin caught fire. Sounds boomed around him. Sunlight burst into a dazzling spectrum, burning far brighter than before.

  Peace. Maselli was dead.

  The mattresses in heaven were soft, though he didn’t care for the strong chemical smell. Was it because he had died as a test subject? A siren chimed. No—heaven couldn’t be Henrikian.

  He was still alive. Which meant one of two things: either Jeromy was alive too, or Maselli would have to end his own life. He glanced down—still in his clothes, though someone had removed his shoes. Another bed stood at the far end, but Jeromy wasn’t in it. The nurses and Leonard were gone as well.

  Maselli eased himself out of the tent into the bright afternoon. Lab workers carried corpses towards an incinerator at the far end. Jeromy stood a short distance away, standing with the nurses who had given them the injections.

  Pressing the back of his hand against his wet nose, Maselli screamed, “Jerry!”

  His brother turned, shrieked, and opened his arms. They sprinted across the field and crashed into each other, embracing.

  “You’re still alive!”

  “I am!”

  “That was so scary!”

  “I know!”

  They embraced again, swaying back and forth.

  “Maselli Shepherd and Jeromy Shepherd.”

  They broke apart and noticed a white envelope in the nurse’s hand. Money.

  Maselli snatched it and tore it open, counting the notes twice. “Jerry, we have the money.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “I don’t think we can leave yet,” said Maselli, turning to the nurse. “Does Doctor Aureate still need us?”

  “No,” she replied. “He told me to let you go once you woke.” She didn’t say it, but he had probably ordered her to burn them both if they hadn’t woken within the hour. “He doesn’t want to see you here ever again.”

  The two boys raced against time in a hunt for Fortune. Maselli’s head ached, but he pushed through.

  They crossed the burned bridge. Fortune’s shop was open. As soon as the dealer saw them charging toward him, he darted deeper inside.

  “Give… syrup… now!” Maselli coughed, slamming the envelope onto the counter.

  Fortune frowned, stalling precious seconds. He fingered the envelope and peeked inside. “Did you rob someone? Is that why you were sprinting?”

  “We don’t have time for this!”

  The dealer set a glass bottle of crystal liquid on the counter, along with a blister pack of anti-curse pills and another drug they didn’t recognize.

  “Whoever asked you to buy this must take a spoonful of Black Syrup every morning and evening,” Fortune said. “And the—”

  But the boys were already gone.

  How long until Blackwood’s portal opened? How could he have overlooked that? Judging by the sun’s trajectory, it might still be hours before they made it home. There was no way Ezra would die before seeing him one last time. She had fought through seven days—she could endure one more hour.

  And when the Rings warmed, his teeth sank deep into the tip of his tongue, waiting and waiting for the portal to grow big enough. The portal to Blackwood opened and the Shepherd brothers leapt through.

  Block Seven.

  They clambered up the stairs. How unfortunate would it be for Maselli to smash the bottle by accident?

  Top floor.

  They tore down the hallway and skidded to a halt at their door. Jeromy pounded. A key turned, the lock snapped, and Mari pulled it open. One glance at them—and the plastic bag in Maselli’s hand—was enough. She leapt aside and urged them in. Ezra was still alive.

  “Jerry, spoon!” Maselli shouted, vaulting over the centre table and tripping on a rug. He stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to steady himself by the bedroom door. Jeromy pushed it open, and they all spilled inside.

  Maselli yanked the Black Syrup bottle from the bag and twisted the cap. His sweaty hands slipped over the glass. He wiped his palms hard against his trousers, gripped the bottle once more, and on the third attempt, the cap came free. He snatched the spoon from Jeromy, hands trembling as he tried to measure the dose.

  A steady hand closed over his own, easing the bottle and spoon away. Maselli blinked up through fringed lashes and found his father standing before him. Aron moved to Ezra’s bedside. Maselli couldn’t look away.

  Mari stepped in close and wrapped her arms around Maselli’s head, pressing his face into her chest. He listened to her heartbeat as he waited for his father to speak.

  Later, Maselli and Aron sat in the living room while Mari spoke with Jeromy in the kitchen. Maselli trusted Jeromy to tell the truth where necessary and leave out the parts that would give their parents a heart attack. They needed to come out of this as heroes, not lucky fools.

  “Your mother and I agreed to chastise you two for running off the way you did,” Aron said. “But I’m not going to do that. Without your intervention, your sister would have died.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” Maselli asked. “Black Vein doesn’t leave rhens alone until they’re out of the UCL.”

  He woke to the dull colours in Ezra’s eyes. She lay beside him on his thin mattress, watching with an impish grin. She pressed a finger to her lips until Maselli’s muscles eased and he sank back onto the bed. Ezra had a long way to go before resembling her true self again. She was still sickly, her skin still streaked with black vines.

  Maselli drifted toward sleep, only to jolt awake when someone shifted beside him. Ezra’s elbow dug into his ribs. He grunted, turned until comfortable again, and she took it as an invitation to rest her head on his chest, numbing his arm beneath her weight. At least she was annoying again.

  “Have you ever thought of moving out?” he asked.

  “I’m never leaving here,” she said. “Not until my father comes for me.”

  “Don’t you want to find someone and settle down? Have a big Solvarian wedding and start a family? You’re a baby now, but trust me, life catches up fast.”

  “I only fall in love with royalty,” she said.

  “But kings and queens don’t exist.”

  “I can’t get married, Maselli.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be marriage. It could be a vacation. Who knows how many times you’ll get sick, cooped up in here like that.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It feels that way.”

  “No—I mean, you can’t expect us to go through this every time you get sick. We don’t have nearly enough money to take care of you. You need to be somewhere safer, somewhere more realistic. It’s selfish to get upset over this.”

  She sprang up at once. He tried to catch her hand, but she slipped away and bolted. Ezra rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Maselli shoved it open with his knee, barging in.

  She stood there like a storm ready to tear him apart. Maybe he should retreat while he still could. A bang on the door shook them out of stasis. The handle rattled. Jeromy pushed past them both, dropped to his knees, and leaned over the toilet.

  His body convulsed as he vomited a clear liquid.

  “What’s happening in there?” Aron called from the bedroom.

  “Ezra, is that you?” Mari asked—her voice low, barely carrying through the walls.

  Jeromy answered neither. He kept spewing water, then paused—slumped on the floor, knees raised, lips parted. His golden-brown eyes glowed. Maselli blinked. Maybe it was just the sunlight playing tricks.

  The air grew hot. The lightbulb flickered. Sweat on Jeromy’s skin hissed into steam. Maselli’s mind teetered on the edge—he was about to scream. Someone, stop him!

  “Jerry,” Ezra whispered. “Calm down.”

  Jeromy stared at his trembling hands, his eyes wide circles. He looked at Ezra. Then at Maselli. And then—they all screamed.

  Ezra dropped to the floor, hands clamped over her head. Maselli froze, too slow to move, entranced by the flood of golden light. It slammed into him, flinging him across the room. He smashed against the wall and slid down, dazed but conscious. Ezra shrank from the windows, as if sunlight itself could burn her to ash. She bolted deeper into the house, while their parents stood frozen in the living room.

  Maselli coughed dust, forcing himself to rise. He staggered through splintered wood and beat concrete debris out of his sight. “Crazy,” he rasped. “This is—”

  Another blast of light ripped through, striking him again. He flew back, crashed into the balustrade, and toppled over the edge. Maselli caught a metal rod, dangling above a three-hundred-metre drop.

  Aron rushed forward, reaching down. “Hold on!” he shouted, straining to pull him up.

  Below, a crowd gathered, all eyes on the spectacle. On the stairwells, bodies pressed and stumbled in a desperate bid to get closer. Aron grunted with every tug, hauling Maselli back into the hallway.

  And still they stood, dumbfounded, as if time itself had stopped—witnessing with their very eyes something that should not exist.