Much to Abel’s surprise, it was with great ease that Madam Fenharrow forgave the two boys after they provided a clean hallway, and great reluctance that she accepted their decision to both attend the Metalworks’ school.

  “A few ground rules you both must follow before you enter.” She warned them the day they were set to depart for the Altiman District on their first day. “You must tread carefully. Don’t reveal your magical abilities unless you absolutely have to. Don’t start fights. Try to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

  She kept fretting over their clothes, already demanding to iron them twice before they were certainly allowed to leave. Whoever she was afraid of was worth the fear. It unsettled Abel and Neymar alike.

  “We’ll try.”

  The Altiman District was nestled on the edge of the city. A tributary of the River Road ran through it, dumping into Lake Setia on the other side. Right alongside the river road, wrought iron gates stood thrice as tall as any denizen, red from the damp rust. Brick wall hallways extended past the gate, leading into an inspection zone. Empire Officers were waiting for Abel and Neymar the morning they approached the gates to begin school. The officers thoroughly inspected their sparse bags, pat them down for illegal items, demanded identification, then a formal written letter from the Empire’s ruling council to enter the zone, then demanded the same identification again. Abel could’ve sworn they had short term memory loss from the frequency they requested the same documents over and over.

  It was an exceptionally long and arduous process, where Abel’s attempts to clarify their status were met with a sharp click of the tongue. Every move he made felt like an inconvenience to them. At least Neymar seemed to have a slightly easier time.

  Dear lord of light, they were going to have to go through this every time they wanted to return to the city, too.

  Upon entering the District proper, they were met with a bustling shanty town. Temporary housing structures made of metal sheets and plywood were stacked on top of each other, buttressed against old crumbling brick industrial buildings, narrowing the already labyrinthine streets. Warehouses and factories converted into housing were tethered together with wire of hanging laundry spilling out of sparse, high-reach windows. Streaks of indecipherable graffiti coated most of the walls. An officer was painting over one particular wall, erasing what seemed like renderings of fallen human bodies.

  Curious.

  They first arrived at their modest apartment, which was the top floor of a townhouse from the previous century, made up of chipped brown brick and thick glass panes and simple wood furniture that squeaked beneath Neymar’s weight.

  “Maybe we can find something sturdier.” Abel mused.

  If they had neighbors in the floors below, they were either silent or absent. They didn’t have much time to figure out which, for school was set to start soon after they settled in.

  The Metalworks Collegiate Academy was a squat square building tucked between houses and surrounded by a metal wire gate that reminded Abel of a chicken coop. An officer stood at the gate, ushering students through and counting them like chicks. Abel and Neymar slipped into the crowd easily, blending into what felt like an absurd number of people for the size of the building.

  “Every kid in this district must be here.” Abel murmured, his eyes darting between the skeptical glances shot their way and the absent gazes of passing students. For the number of people around them, they were particularly quiet. There was a low murmur of casual chatter. No playwrestling. Was that laughing he heard or coughing?

  Inside was a different story.

  “Okay, people. Pay attention for five minutes, and then we can go back to independent study. We have newcomers in town!” Their homeroom teacher clapped his distracted students to attention. The classroom was a mess of half-open rusty windows, old desks with years of students doodling and picking at them to wear them down on the edges, and sparse bookshelves. The room was crowded. And here, voices bustled, sharp. Conversation was animated, almost hostile.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Look at that punk. Can’t even cut his hair right it’s falling all over his face.”

  “That guy looks like a geezer. What is he, forty?”

  “Who do you think is going to be on duty at lunch time? Think I can sneak out?”

  “And where the hell would you go from there?”

  “Anywhere my heart takes me.”

  “Her heart will take her to the booze shop down the street.”

  “Shut up! I don’t have a problem.”

  And Abel and Neymar, standing at the front of the room beside the teacher, heard it all.

  “Damn aggravating bunch.” Neymar muttered.

  Abel was just relieved. This was far better than quiet.

  After a brief introduction that nobody seemingly paid attention to, Abel and Neymar shuffled to their assigned desks shoved in the corner of the room as if left to be discarded. Abel smiled at each face they passed, receiving odd looks. Nobody was eager to approach them.

  Well, all except one.

  “Which cave did you spring up from?” A lilting voice piped up as Abel took his seat. “The Empire hasn’t accepted new residents since Altiman closed its borders.”

  The girl who propped her elbow on Abel’s desk reminded Abel of a cherry. Full round cheeks pronounce beneath a cloud of dark tight curls held down by a bright blue headband. She was broad, with thick limbs draped in a modified uniform jacket that resembled more of a cloak. Behind her, a trio of students had their backs turned to them, but the way they occasionally leaned in closer to the girl and side-eyed them meant they were raring to intervene at a moment’s notice. Protection, like hornets surrounding their queen.

  “I’m Rockwell, by the way.” She held her hand out. Off instinct, Abel took it and kissed the back of it in the customary Caldon way. Neymar elbowed Abel in his side, which caused him to release his grip on her.

  “Oh.” Rockwell squinted, confused.

  “Oh I—“ Abel’s mind raced. “We were found in the West, by the war front, and the government decided to help us by bringing us here.” Abel lied, or rather, told the truth with less details. “You pick up a few things when you live near the border.”

  His gaze flicked to Neymar, whose gaze stiffly rested on Abel.You little shit, what are you dragging me into?

  “Help you! More like throw you into a cage.” Rockwell laughed, seemingly assuaged with the story. “You must’ve lived the high life out there until you got caught, eh? With enough room for your elbows and no Catcher breathing down your back?”

  “Catcher?” Neymar grunted out. Rockwell’s attention turned to him with interest.

  “So he speaks!” Rockwell ghosted a gentle shove at him. Neymar remained still as stone, awkward.

  “The Catchers are the officers in this district. Their official title is The Peacekeepers, but that’s a bunch of bullshit.” Rockwell frowned, grim. “ They patrol constantly, and when they see you as even the slightest threat— you could look at their shoe wrong and they’ll find that justification enough— they’ll snatch you up. You’ll be gone, just like that.” She snapped. “Some folks get spirited away on the suspicion of being mages. Can you believe that?”

  “There are mages in the district?” Abel raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

  Rockwell laughed.

  “Altiman mages? That’s an oxymoron. I think it’s just an excuse for Catchers to get rid of people they don’t like.” Rockwell shrugged.

  “Well, what do the Catchers do with them?” Neymar’s stoic expression broke with a bit of concern.

  “Nobody knows. Some people are convinced there’s some prison, maybe out in the boondocks.” She picked at a spot on Abel’s desk. “Others think the Catchers take them into a corner and, well—” She mimed slitting her own throat. “We’ve found bodies in the river before.”

  Neymar shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

  “Ain’t it?” Rockwell’s gaze was sympathetic. “Just be careful out there, boys.”

  “How often does someone get… Caught?” Abel quietly inquired.

  “Often enough. Just two weeks ago, we lost someone from our own class.” Rockwell’s gaze flitted to the middle of the room, to a remarkably empty desk considering the crowd of students around them. “Eve Mardin.”

  “She was… Why was she…?” Neymar was so troubled by the news that he struggled to finish his thoughts.

  “Wrong place, wrong time… Who knows?”

  Rockwell’s gaze flitted back to the two of them, suddenly alert.

  “Just be careful with who you talk to around here. Some folks are quick to use the Catchers for their own gain.” She warned.

  “How?”

  SLAM.

  The door to the classroom opened suddenly, beckoning the room to silence.

  A tall, lanky girl in fading blonde dye stood in the entrance. Her stance was taut, with a tilted head and upturned chin that promised a fight to come if you so much as sneezed in her direction. She paid no mind to the scolding teacher or the leering looks. In fact, the sharp gaze of her hooded eyes flicked directly to Abel and Neymar.

  And Abel couldn’t help but think she was pretty. And not in a conventionally passing way— pretty in the way you can’t help but seek them out to stare at them.

  And she was staring back. Rather intently, too.

  So he offered her a smile.

  She didn’t smile back. In fact, it seemed his reaction made her more wary.

  Shit. Bad move. Wait—

  Before either of them could get a word in, a grating voice seemed to get in the middle.

  Or rather, a boy with a single braid running across the top of his head interposed them, scowling at the girl.

  “You have some nerve showing your face, Volta, you evil bitch.”

  Abel’s hand instinctively twitched at the venom.

  Can’t get involved. Keep a low profile.

  But as he noticed the other students rise from their seats to approach her, the air grew tense.

  … is she really that bad?

  When the she refused to respond, the boy tried a different approach, his voice low:

  “Where’s Eve?”

  Oh no.