“Kael. Happy birthday.”

  The words drifted through sleep like warm air through a cracked window—soft, patient, and familiar enough that he didn’t wake all at once. He shifted beneath the thin blanket tangled around his legs, nose scrunching as the fabric rasped against his cheek. It smelled like stone dust and soap that had long ago lost its scent, but it was clean, and that was what mattered.

  “Kael,” his mother said again, closer now. “You’re four.”

  Four.

  The number didn’t feel real. Numbers were strange things that adults cared about. Three had been small and ordinary. Four sounded… taller. Like a step up a ladder he couldn’t see yet.

  “That means you’re a big boy now,” she added quietly.

  Kael blinked one eye open.

  Dim yellow light leaked through the thin crack in the ceiling where the slab above never quite sealed properly. The glow from the corridor outside filtered down through it in a hazy line, cutting the room into soft shadow and pale gold.

  His mother crouched beside the mattress, arms folded loosely on her knees.

  Her hair brushed her shoulders when she moved, uneven where she trimmed it herself with dull scissors. Strands stuck out in stubborn directions, catching the light in faint brown highlights. Her eyes—dark and round and always a little tired—were level with his.

  She smiled when he finally focused on her.

  It wasn’t a big smile. It never was. Just the gentle curve of her mouth, like a secret she only shared with him.

  Then Kael smelled it.

  Sweet. Warm. Real.

  He sat up so fast the blanket twisted around his legs and dragged the mattress sideways with a dull scrape. His feet hit the cold stone floor, breath puffing out in a quiet gasp as the chill climbed up his legs.

  On the table—the table, the crooked slab of wood wedged between the wall and the stove—sat a plate.

  A real plate. Chipped along the rim. Clean.

  On it lay a piece of bread thicker than anything he had ever been given at once. Honey gleamed across the surface in slow golden streaks, catching the low light like melted glass.

  And on top of the honey—

  Apple.

  Thin slices. Pale. Slightly browned at the edges. One cut crooked. Another missing a corner like someone had tasted it to make sure it was safe.

  To Kael, it looked like treasure.

  He hovered beside the table, hands trembling in the air above it, afraid that touching it too quickly might make it vanish.

  “For me?” he whispered.

  His mother laughed softly, nudging the plate closer. “For you.”

  He picked the bread up with both hands and bit into it.

  Honey stuck to his lips instantly. The apple crunched faintly between his teeth, sharp and sweet all at once. The taste spread across his tongue so suddenly and so brightly that his eyes widened in shock.

  It was good.

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  So good it made his chest ache. So good it made his throat feel tight, like he didn’t know how to swallow something this wonderful without ruining it.

  He chewed slowly. Carefully. Afraid of finishing.

  His mother watched him eat like this was the real gift.

  At four years old, Kael didn’t know that honey almost never reached Tier Nine unless someone higher up had grown bored of it. He didn’t know that apples arrived bruised and rejected, sold cheap only when rot threatened to make them worthless. He didn’t know how many extra shifts she’d worked. How many favors she’d quietly repaid. How long she must have stood in lines that smelled like rust and sweat and old stone.

  He only knew this was the best thing he had ever tasted.

  Years later, the memory would haunt him.

  But not now.

  Now the chair creaked loudly as he climbed onto it, freezing mid-motion when the noise echoed too much in the small room. He glanced instinctively toward the door, heart thumping.

  No shout came. No footsteps followed.

  Just the quiet crackle of the stove and the distant, ever-present hum of the March moving somewhere far above the stone.

  Safe.

  He exhaled slowly and took another bite.

  His mother leaned her elbows on the table, chin resting lightly on folded hands as she watched him. Her fingers were rough and callused, tiny cuts lining the knuckles like thin white threads. A dark smear of stone dust lingered beneath one fingernail.

  He didn’t notice the marks.

  He noticed the way she looked at him.

  Like the room brightened just because he was in it.

  “Well?” she said after a moment. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  He sniffed. Only then realizing tears had slid down his nose and dropped onto the table.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted, panic rising. “I didn’t mean to—”

  She was there instantly, cupping his face in warm hands.

  “Hey,” she murmured. “No. That’s not something you apologize for.”

  Her thumbs brushed his cheeks, wiping away sticky trails of honey and tears alike.

  Kael swallowed hard. “Thank you, Mom.”

  The words felt heavy and small all at once.

  Her smile softened. “That’s all I wanted.”

  They ate together in quiet comfort, the stove ticking softly as it heated the small room. The honey grew sticky under his fingers. Crumbs scattered across the table. He tried to save the last bite, breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces so it would last longer.

  Eventually, she stood and pulled on her boots.

  The leather was cracked and worn thin, patched more times than he could count. The laces didn’t match. One was string.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Those walls won’t patch themselves.”

  Kael slid off the chair immediately. “Be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  She kissed his forehead, then paused at the door, glancing back.

  “Don’t eat it all at once. Good things are better when they last.”

  The door shut with a soft click.

  The room felt bigger without her. Quieter in the wrong way.

  Kael padded to the wall and pressed his ear against the cold stone, listening to her footsteps fade into the rhythm of the March. He didn’t know why he always did this. Only that he liked knowing the exact moment she disappeared into the world outside.

  When the sound finally vanished, he sat on the floor and finished the last bite of bread, licking honey from his fingers until they shone.

  The day stretched wide and quiet ahead of him.

  He spent the morning the way he always did when she worked early shifts—slowly, carefully, and with the strange seriousness of a child who understood just enough about the world to know it required effort.

  He folded the blanket the way she’d shown him, pressing the wrinkles flat with the heel of his hand. He stacked the two bowls beside the stove. He swept crumbs from the table into his palm and ate them one by one, unwilling to waste anything.

  When he finished, he climbed onto the stool by the sink and turned the tap just enough to wet a rag. The water ran rusty for a moment before clearing, the pipes groaning like they were waking up.

  He scrubbed the plate carefully, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth in concentration.

  The room felt proud of him when he was done.

  Sunlight never reached Tier Nine, but the corridor lamps shifted brighter as the day deepened above. The glow through the ceiling crack sharpened from yellow to pale white.

  Kael tugged on his shoes and stepped outside.

  The corridor smelled like warm stone and distant steam. Voices echoed from far away, bouncing through tunnels and stairwells in soft, distorted waves. Somewhere, metal clanged. Somewhere else, someone laughed.

  Home.

  He walked slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized shirt, counting his steps out of habit. He didn’t know why he counted. Only that the numbers made the tunnels feel less endless.

  Thirty-seven steps to the corner.

  Twelve more to the ladder.

  He paused there, staring upward where the metal rungs disappeared into shadow. Tier Eight sat somewhere above. Tier Seven above that. A whole world stacked in stone and steel.

  He imagined sunlight lived up there.

  Then he shook the thought away and continued toward the water pumps.

  The air grew cooler as he approached, dampness creeping into the stone beneath his feet. The faint scent of rust and metal grew stronger. Drips echoed ahead in uneven rhythm.

  He smiled without realizing it.

  Because he liked this place.

  And because he didn’t know yet that one day it would give him something he would never be able to lose.