The first thing Kai noticed as her eyes fluttered open was the hum—a soft, familiar vibration that seemed to echo through the pristine walls of her bedroom. The air, cool and faintly tinged with a synthetic citrus scent, flowed gently from hidden vents, wrapping the room in its sterile embrace. Morning sunlight streamed through the massive window on the far wall, filtered through polarized glass that softened its rays into a warm, golden glow.

  She blinked against the light, her gaze landing on the sleek, minimalist ceiling above her. Her bed adjusted subtly to her movements, the temperature-controlled blankets gliding across her skin with an unnervingly smooth texture. For a moment, everything felt normal.

  Then she turned her head, and her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room caught her eye.

  Her breath caught. For a moment, she froze, her mind scrambling to make sense of the shimmering biotech filament embedded in her skin. The mark wasn't red or angry—it was coldly beautiful, iridescent, yet utterly damning. A small, curling design stretched from her cheekbone toward her temple, delicate but unmistakable. It glimmered faintly in the golden light, like a living thread woven into her flesh.

  Disbelief rooted her in place, her chest tightening as her eyes traced the mark. It almost seemed deliberate, like an artist’s flourish. But there was no artistry in the hollow ache spreading through her chest. Her reflection stared back, unyielding. The mark felt alive, mocking her from the other side of the glass.

  Her fingers trembled as they rose to her face, hovering for a moment before she pressed them to the mark. The surface was cool, smooth, almost soft against her fingertips. It didn’t belong to her. It was alien, a foreign invader claiming her body without her consent.

  The sterile air seemed sharper now, the faint hum of the vents louder. Her stomach churned as memories of Zenith’s unspoken rules flooded her mind: Perfection isn’t a choice. It’s an expectation.

  She could still hear the whispers at parties, the clipped tones of doctors warning of “imperfections.” “They sent their son away, you know.” “Such a shame. A biotech defect. Can you imagine?” The faces of her parents flashed in her mind—her mother’s serene but unyielding expression, her father’s cold, calculating gaze. What would they say?

  Her fingers curled into a fist, pressing against her cheek. Anger surged beneath the dread, hot and sharp. She’d done everything right. She’d molded herself into their perfect daughter, embodying every expectation Zenith demanded. Wasn’t that enough? Why had this happened?

  The sunlight shifted as a cloud passed, its filtered glow catching her reflection again. The mark shimmered faintly, defiant beneath the faint layer of sweat now glistening on her forehead. She turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of herself. The bed’s smooth sheets whispered against her as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

  The room, once her sanctuary, now felt vast and hostile. The air, too clean, seemed to scrape against her lungs. The hum of the vents pressed against her ears, a constant reminder of the perfection that had been her life. Even the sunlight, so carefully filtered, felt like an intrusion.

  She swallowed hard and forced herself to look back at the mirror, her stomach churning with equal parts fear and determination. No one can know. Her mind reeled through options—concealer, scarves, doctors—but the mark glimmered back at her, beautiful and damning, as if it already knew the truth: hiding it would never be enough.

  Her sobs quieted, but the memories clawed their way to the surface, relentless. The piano was the first to come to her mind. She could still feel the smooth, cool ivory beneath her fingertips, the precise weight of each key pressing back as she played. Her mother would sit nearby, perfectly composed, her gaze sharp as glass.

  “Again,” her mother would say, without raising her voice. Kai would adjust her posture, straighten her wrists, and start over. The melody, once a soothing companion, had become a test. Every note was a measure of her worth. A single slip of her finger, an uneven trill, and her mother’s sigh would cut through the room, quiet but devastating. “Perfection is in the details, Kai. If you can’t master the small things, how will you ever master the rest?”

  At the time, she had believed her mother’s gaze was protective, guiding her toward greatness. Now, as she pressed her face into her trembling hands, she wondered if those eyes had always been searching for cracks—watching for this exact moment when she would fail to measure up.

  The dinners were no different. She could picture the long, pristine table in Zenith’s most exclusive hall, a masterpiece of polished crystal and gleaming silver. Every seat was occupied by a figure of influence, their faces carved with the same sharp lines of status and control. She had sat among them, back straight, her movements measured to perfection. Each smile she gave was deliberate, calibrated to charm without inviting scrutiny.

  Her father had been at the head of the table, his presence a quiet but commanding force. He rarely spoke, but when he did, the room listened. Kai would glance at him between bites, hoping for a flicker of approval, a nod, anything. His silence was like a riddle she could never solve, and she had convinced herself that earning his favor was as simple as never making a mistake.

  But now, sitting in her sterile room with the mark burning against her skin, those memories felt like lies. The approval she had chased, the calm she had once found in their eyes—it all seemed hollow. Had they ever truly seen her, or had they only been searching for imperfections to root out? Her mother’s sighs, her father’s silence—they weren’t signs of love, were they? They were warnings.

  A fresh wave of tears spilled over her cheeks as she clutched the smooth fabric of the blanket, her knuckles aching with the force. Did they always know this was coming? Were they waiting for me to fail, to break their illusion of perfection?

  The weight of it crushed her. The piano, the dinners, the endless lessons—they had all been bricks in a wall meant to protect her from this moment. And now, the wall had crumbled, and she was left exposed. Her reflection in the mirror seemed to taunt her again, the shimmering mark catching the light. All those eyes, always watching. I thought they were watching over me, but they were watching for me to falter.

  The thought sliced through her like ice. What if this was all I ever was to them—a perfect facade?

  Kai’s breath comes in shallow gasps as she pushes herself to her feet, the smooth sheets slipping away as she stumbles toward the mirror. Her knees feel unsteady, as if the weight of her own body has shifted under the pressure of the mark. The room seems smaller now, closing in on her, its sterile perfection turning suffocating as she nears the glass.

  Her reflection greets her, unyielding and cold. She takes a step closer, her face now inches from the mirror, the mark on her skin glowing faintly under the intensity of the light. She raises her trembling hand to her face again, her fingers brushing the lines of the mark with hesitant curiosity, like she’s afraid it might bite.

  It feels strange. Scaly, almost—like the skin of a reptile, cool and slick beneath her touch. The smooth surface of the mark shifts under her fingers, as though it’s alive, reacting to her every movement. It doesn’t feel like part of her at all.

  Her breath hitches in her throat as her mind spirals. She’s failing. She’s broken. She doesn’t know what’s real anymore. The world she had built, the identity she had crafted in the polished halls of Zenith, is suddenly fragile, about to collapse in a single breath.

  Will they still love me? The thought hangs in the air like an unanswered question, too heavy to be spoken aloud. She knows the answer, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Her parents’ love was always conditional, always built on her ability to conform. They had never said it outright, but she had felt it in every lesson, every expectation.

  What if this mark is enough to break that bond? What if it’s enough to make her less than in their eyes? Would they protect her—or cast her aside, just like those with imperfections were whispered about at parties?

  She closes her eyes, pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. Her heart races, her thoughts crashing into each other like an avalanche.

  Maybe I should just go to someone, Tessa.

  The thought circles in her mind, too tempting to ignore. If she stayed in this room, in the safety of the sterile walls, she might go mad with the weight of the uncertainty. Tessa was someone who could look at her without judgment, without the expectation of perfection that everyone else carried.

  She hesitates, her hand still lingering on the edge of the mirror. She imagines Tessa’s voice, calm and steady, guiding her through the storm that’s threatening to tear her apart. Maybe Tessa would understand. Maybe she’s seen it all before.

  With a final glance at the mark in the mirror, Kai turns away. The choice is made. She’s going to find Tessa.

  Kai’s steps are quick as she leaves the room, her mind heavy with the weight of the decision. The corridors of the house are silent, as they always are in the early morning hours, as if the house itself is holding its breath. She hurries past the clean, perfect halls, her heart pounding in her chest. The house is too quiet, too still—her parents are nowhere to be found, perhaps still asleep, unaware of the disaster unfolding in her mind.

  She exits the house into the early morning light, stepping into the familiar streets of Zenith, her mind swirling with thoughts of Tessa, what she might say. The city is still waking up, the air sharp with the chill of dawn. It feels like a different world out here, one damning her to an eternity in flames.

  She arrives at Tessa’s apartment in what feels like no time at all, her footsteps urgent. When the door opens, Tessa stands in front of her, looking as perfect as ever—flawless skin, pristine clothing, and a composed smile. But Kai knows better. Behind those eyes, there’s a fire, something untamed, something that doesn’t care for the rules of Zenith.

  For a moment, Tessa’s smile falters when she sees the look in Kai’s eyes—an unease that hadn’t been there before. But she doesn’t say anything.

  “Kai? What’s going on?” Tessa’s voice is soft, concerned, but there’s a sharpness in it too. She knows Kai well enough to see that something is terribly wrong.

  Kai stands there, frozen for a moment, as if the words might not come. But then she steps forward, almost desperately, and turns her face toward Tessa.

  “Tess, I—" Her voice cracks as she reaches up, hesitating before touching the mark on her skin, a gesture of vulnerability she’s never allowed herself before. “Look at this. Look at what’s happened to me. What if this is it? What if this is the end of everything?”

  Tessa’s gaze softens, her eyes scanning the mark. Tessa doesn’t recoil, doesn’t look at her like something broken. She looks at the mark with understanding, but there’s a sadness there too—like Tessa sees something Kai doesn’t want to acknowledge.

  “Come in,” Tessa says quietly, stepping aside to let Kai through. There’s no need for more words yet—Tessa understands the gravity of this moment.

  As Kai crosses the threshold into Tessa’s apartment, she feels a wave of both relief and fear wash over her. This room is different from her own—the furniture is simple, the walls decorated with memories of rebellion and unspoken defiance. It smells like lavender and pine smoke, a world away from the sterile perfection of Zenith.

  Tessa doesn’t speak immediately, but she leads Kai to the couch, sitting beside her. For a moment, there’s only the quiet sound of Kai’s breathing, ragged from the emotions swirling inside her. Then, Tessa finally speaks.

  “You don’t have to be perfect, Kai.”

  Her words are quiet, but they hit Kai like a punch to the gut. For the first time today, she feels something close to hope—and something far more terrifying than the mark itself.

  “Perfect was never real,” Tessa continues, her voice a soft but steady anchor in the storm. “And it’s not who you have to be. You’re not alone in this.”

  Kai’s breath catches, and she glances at Tessa, searching her face for something more, something that will make sense of all this.

  But Tessa’s expression is unreadable now, her eyes distant as she continues, “If you want to know who you really are, it’s not in Zenith.”

  Kai sits in the dimly lit room, her body still trembling from the rush of emotions. Tessa’s words settle around her like a blanket, but they don’t quite bring the peace Kai had hoped for. She’s still so tangled in her thoughts, the weight of the mark on her own face pressing down on her like a heavy stone.

  But then Tessa shifts slightly beside her, her knee brushing Kai’s, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her own dress. For a moment, Kai doesn’t understand why Tessa is moving so deliberately—until Tessa slides her hand up the fabric of her own leg.

  Kai looks at her, confused, but then Tessa meets her gaze, her eyes steady and resolute. Slowly, she raises the hem of her dress, revealing the skin beneath. The faint shimmer of a mark, similar to Kai’s own, catches the light. Tessa’s mark is smaller, more discreet, but it’s there—a twisting design, delicate and subtle, but unmistakable.

  Tessa’s expression is unreadable as she watches Kai’s gaze fall to the mark. There’s no hesitation in her voice when she speaks, but there’s a quiet sadness behind her words.

  “I’ve had this for years, Kai,” she says softly, the words flowing like water, steady and unhurried. “Since I was… younger. There was no one to tell, no one to see it. I had no one to explain, no one to fix it. So I hid it.”

  Kai’s heart skips a beat as she processes Tessa’s words. She looks back up to meet her friend’s eyes, but there’s no pity there, no judgment—just the quiet truth of someone who’s lived with her own imperfection, who has carried it in silence for so long.

  Tessa’s voice continues, low and steady, like she’s sharing a secret, a confession that has been locked away for far too long.

  “I hid it because… no one wants to see imperfection. Not here. Not in Zenith. It’s a death sentence, Kai. You know that.” She lets out a small, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “With both my parents gone, there was no one to care. No one to protect me from the world’s judgment. I didn’t have to face the pressure, because there was no one left to look at me and decide if I was worthy of their gaze.”

  Tessa lowers her leg, smoothing the fabric over it as if nothing had changed, but there’s something different in her eyes now. It’s raw, a glimpse into the layers of the girl who had always seemed untouchable in her perfection. The girl who had made everything seem so effortless.

  “It’s easier for me,” Tessa continues, her voice softening, almost vulnerable now. “Mine’s easier to conceal. I learned how to hide it, to make it blend in, so no one ever knew. But you…” She trails off, her gaze flicking over to Kai’s face, the mark still visible, still raw. “Yours is harder to hide. And I’m sorry. I wish I could take it from you, Kai. I wish I could protect you from this.”

  Tessa’s hand rests gently on Kai’s arm now, her fingers warm against her skin. “But the truth is, we all have our marks. Some are just easier to hide than others.”

  Kai sits quietly, her breath still shallow, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of the couch as Tessa’s hand rests gently on her arm. The silence stretches out, the weight of everything that’s just been revealed hanging heavily in the air. Tessa doesn’t speak right away, but Kai feels her presence like a steady anchor amid the storm in her mind.

  “I didn’t know,” Kai whispers, her voice barely audible as she stares at Tessa’s leg, at the mark hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. “I didn’t know you had one too.”

  Tessa gives a quiet sigh, her eyes not leaving Kai’s face. There’s a fleeting hesitation before she finally speaks. “I never wanted you to know. Not like this. But I guess we don’t get to choose how we’re seen, do we?”

  Kai glances at her, confusion flickering in her eyes. “But... why hide it?” She shakes her head, her thoughts swirling. “Why keep it a secret?”

  Tessa looks down at her leg, her fingers tapping lightly against the fabric, almost absently. “Because it’s easier to pretend it’s not there. Because I know what happens when people like us—people with marks—are exposed. The perfect world we live in doesn’t leave room for imperfection. Not for people like me... or you.” She pauses, her voice softening, filled with a strange mix of sympathy and wariness.

  “People like me...” Kai repeats softly, realizing the implication. Tessa knows who she is. Knows that she comes from one of the elite families of Zenith. The realization strikes her with a sense of discomfort, a mixture of guilt and shame.

  Tessa catches that flicker of hesitation in her gaze and sighs, her expression shifting into something more serious. “Kai,” she says gently, her tone taking on a new weight, “I know you’re one of the Zenithal families. The elite. The ones who run this city. Your family is untouchable—they are untouchable. You’re supposed to be perfect. No imperfections. Nothing that would ever make you... like me.”

  Kai’s heart sinks at the reminder of her own status, and the contrast of her life to Tessa’s. She’s not supposed to be like this, not supposed to bear the mark of imperfection. She’s not supposed to be in a position where she has to hide it or wonder about the consequences.

  “But it’s not like you can hide it, Kai,” Tessa continues, her voice lowering, almost conspiratorial. “Not this one. Yours isn’t something that can be tucked away or covered up with makeup. It’s... too visible.” She pauses for a moment, as if weighing her next words carefully. “That’s why I’m telling you this. Because I know what this means for you. I know what they’ll do to you if they find out. The elites—they protect their image, and anything that doesn’t fit that image... they eliminate it.”

  Kai’s chest tightens at Tessa’s words. The terror that had been bubbling beneath the surface all morning rushes forward, and her throat constricts as the fear takes root. "Do you think they'd give up on me like that?" “What do I do, Tessa?” Her voice is small, trembling. “I can’t just pretend it’s not there. I can’t hide it.”

  Tessa shifts closer, her gaze softening with sympathy. She takes Kai’s hand, her grip firm but gentle. “I get it, Kai. Everyone around you expects you to uphold that ideal. But the truth is, more and more people are showing signs of imperfection. I’ve seen it.” She hesitates for a beat before continuing. “There’s a small group of us,” she admits quietly. “Down in the Sanctum. It’s a place in the lower levels of Calyx where... people like us can come together. People who don’t fit the mold.”

  Kai’s heart skips a beat, her mind racing. “A group? In the Sanctum?”

  Tessa nods, her gaze meeting Kai’s. “It’s a place for people who don’t belong in the perfect world above. Specifically those exiled from Zenith itself. A place where we don’t have to hide. Where we can just be. No judgments. No expectations.” She watches Kai carefully, as if weighing her response.

  Tessa’s gaze hardens. “The elites will do anything to protect their perfect image. If it means getting rid of people like us, they’ll do it without a second thought.” She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want that to happen to you, Kai. I don’t want them to take you, to exile you from the life you've known.”

  Kai’s mind whirls, the weight of Tessa’s words crashing into her like a tidal wave. She’s always known her position in Zenith, always known the privilege and power her family holds. But this... this is different. Her world is shattering, the walls she’s built up around herself cracking open, revealing a side of life she’s never seen.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “What should I do, Tessa?”

  Tessa meets her gaze, her expression firm but with a flicker of something softer beneath. “You need to decide, Kai. You need to decide if you’re going to hide it, pretend to be something you’re not. Or maybe take a trip with me, to the Sanctum. Come see for yourself.” She pauses, her voice quiet but certain. “The world above might be all you’ve ever known, but down there... it’s different. It’s real.”

  The room is heavy with silence as Kai stares at her reflection in the mirror, the mark on her face a stark reminder of everything she’s afraid to face. Tessa’s hand rests gently on her arm, the only comfort in a moment that feels like everything is shifting beneath her feet.

  “You need to grab a few things,” Tessa says firmly, her voice low but filled with purpose. “Just for a day or two. Get your mind clear, get some space. If you stay here, they’ll find you out quick. But for now, we just need to get you out.”

  Kai’s heart skips a beat as the reality of what Tessa is suggesting sinks in. “You really think I should leave? Just... like this?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, a mix of fear and disbelief. The idea of leaving the comfort and security of her life behind—even for just a short while—feels absurd, but there’s a part of her that can’t shake the sense of urgency in Tessa’s words.

  “Yep, just for a little while,” Tessa says quickly, sensing Kai’s hesitation. “Kai. If you just vanish without warning, it’ll raise alarms, especially with your family. Leave them a note. Just tell them you need some time alone. They’ll believe it for a few days. But we need to go now. Before they start questioning things.”

  Kai stares at the bag Tessa hands her, unsure of how to even begin packing. She’s spent her life collecting things—clothes, accessories, items of status that only further define her place in Zenith. But what should she take now? What could possibly matter outside these walls?

  “What do I even pack?” Kai asks, her voice a little shaky. “How do I just leave everything behind?”

  Tessa watches her closely, her expression soft but insistent. “It’s not about what you take. Just the essentials. Nothing too flashy—nothing that screams Zenith.” She moves toward the closet and picks out a few simple pieces of clothing, things that will blend in if her and Kai need to disappear quickly.

  The words sink in, but Kai’s stomach tightens with the unfamiliar notion of leaving, even temporarily. She looks at Tessa, the girl who seems so sure, so confident in this plan. There’s something in Tessa’s eyes—a knowing look that Kai can’t fully understand. But she trusts her, and in this moment, that trust is all that keeps her from turning back.

  “Okay,” Kai finally says, her voice steady despite the knots in her stomach. “I’ll leave a note. I won’t say much, just that I need some time alone. But... I can’t just go without telling them something. They’ll panic.”

  Tessa nods, moving to the desk where a small pad of paper sits. She grabs a pen and quickly scribbles a few lines, showing it to Kai with a small smile.

  “Keep it simple,” she advises. “Say you’re going away for a bit. They’ll think it’s a vacation or something. You’ll be fine. I know it feels like a lot, but it’s just for a couple of days. You’ll figure things out.”

  Kai takes the note, her heart racing as she reads the brief, simple words: I need time to think. I’m okay. I’ll be back soon.

  It’s not much, but it’s enough to explain away her absence for a short while.

  Tessa’s eyes flicker to the clock as she grabs the bag she’s packed for herself. “We don’t have much time,” she says, her voice sharp. She pauses, glancing at Kai, who is still standing in the middle of the room, the weight of the situation slowly sinking in. “We can’t waste a moment.”

  Kai nods, though her chest tightens. The world feels both too small and too large right now. She doesn’t know if she’s ready, but she can’t stay in this place anymore—trapped in this bubble.

  Tessa moves quickly, the grace of someone accustomed to urgency, but there’s an ease in her actions, a confidence that reassures Kai, even if only for a moment. “Let’s go. We’ll grab your things and leave the note behind. Then we can get out of here before anyone notices.”

  Kai follows her through the kitchen where the scent of fresh coffee lingers—unsettling now, as it contrasts with the swirl of uncertainty in her mind. She’s not sure what she’s doing, not entirely. It’s a leap into the unknown, and all she has is Tessa’s word that she’ll be okay.

  As they step outside, the bright sunlight of Zenith feels different against her skin. It’s almost blinding after the dim light of Tessa’s home, and for a moment, Kai squints against it, as if the world itself is daring her to make the decision.

  Tessa’s voice breaks the silence as they walk toward the hovercar parked at the end of the driveway. “I know it feels like you’re running away, Kai. But you’re not. You’re just... stepping back for a bit. A break from everything. You’ve been in the spotlight for so long, now's a good time, you deserve a moment of your own.”

  Kai doesn’t respond at first. She’s thinking about everything she’s leaving behind—the gleaming halls of Zenith, her parents, the expectations that had once felt like a warm embrace but now feel like chains. She wonders if this will be the first step in something bigger, or if she’ll return to them, her life, and the perfect world she’s been raised in, as though nothing happened.

  The drive to her house feels long, the city around them growing quieter the further they go. Her mind races, thinking of all the things she’s leaving unsaid. But she knows she has to move fast now.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Tess,” she finally admits, her voice quiet and uncertain. “I just... I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

  Tessa doesn’t look at her, her focus solely on the road ahead. “No one ever is. But that’s why we do it. We take control. You’re not going to have all the answers, but you’ll have a chance to see things for what they are.”

  Kai’s gaze drifts out the window, watching the skyline of Zenith. The buildings rise above her like silent, watching giants. She knows she can’t stay here—not like this. She’s not sure what she’s looking for, but she can’t keep pretending everything is perfect, especially now that the truth has shown itself in the form of the mark on her face.

  The hovercar glides to a soft stop in front of Kai’s house, its quiet hum fading into the stillness of the perfectly manicured estate. For a moment, Kai hesitates, staring at the looming structure before her. The house stands like a monument to her life—a life of perfection, order, and expectations. But now, it feels distant, alien even.

  Tessa’s voice cuts through her thoughts, low and urgent. “We don’t have time to waste. Let’s go.”

  They move quickly, slipping through the quiet and manicured lawn, every step careful, deliberate. The weight of what they’re about to do hangs heavy in the air, but there’s no turning back now. Tessa reaches for the door handle, pulling it open without a sound. The cold metal and smooth glass feel foreign in Kai’s grip as she steps inside closing the door behind them.

  The house is unnervingly quiet, its perfection almost suffocating. There’s no warmth, no personal touch. It smells faintly of citrus—sterile, like freshly cut fruit—but even that seems too clean, too controlled. The kind of scent that makes you think of air purifiers, not the comfort of home. It’s a scent that fills the empty space, almost amplifying the silence.

  “No one’s home,” Kai mutters, the relief in her voice mixed with the strange sense of displacement. She had hoped for this—her parents out for the day, leaving the house vacant for a moment of solitude. But now that she’s inside, the emptiness of it all feels more pronounced. It’s as if the house itself is watching her, waiting for her to slip into the same role she’s always been meant to play.

  Tessa’s voice is a sharp contrast to the stillness. “Good. That makes things easier. Now, let’s move fast.”

  The halls stretch ahead of them, sleek and polished. Every surface glistens with precision, but there’s a coldness to it all, as though the very walls are designed to be flawless, not welcoming. No paintings, no mementos—just smooth, reflective surfaces and muted tones. The house feels more like an extension of the city itself: controlled, methodical, and disconnected.

  Kai’s heart pounds as they make their way upstairs. The familiar steps of the grand staircase are somehow heavier now, as if each step brings her closer to something she’s afraid to face. She reaches her room and pauses in the doorway.

  Her bedroom is just as perfect, just as empty. The walls are bare—no art, no photographs, nothing to make it feel like a space meant for someone to live in. Only the wide, floor-to-ceiling mirror on one side of the room and the window on the other, both stretching toward the ceiling. The room seems to hold her in, almost trapping her with its silence.

  Tessa doesn’t wait, moving quickly toward the closet. “Grab whatever you need. No time to think too hard. Just the essentials.”

  Kai doesn’t respond immediately. She’s standing still, her gaze wandering around the room. It’s a space she’s known her entire life, but now it feels foreign, a symbol of everything she’s been raised to uphold. She moves toward the closet, pulling out clothes—simple, practical things. She doesn’t need the expensive outfits or the accessories that fill her drawers. None of that matters now.

  She pulls a jacket from the shelf, then stops, staring at the mirror across the room. For a second, she almost expects the reflection to change—maybe her parents will appear, or the room will shift back into the familiar, comforting place it once was. But nothing changes. The reflection is the same, stark and silent.

  “Everything you need?” Tessa’s voice pulls Kai from her trance. She looks over at her friend, nodding, though her chest still feels tight. The weight of leaving is heavy, even if it’s just for a short while.

  Kai turns back to the mirror, gazing at her reflection one last time. She’s not sure what she’s looking for. The girl she sees in the glass isn’t the same person she was when she woke up this morning. The mark on her face is proof of that.

  “Yeah,” she says softly, breaking the silence. “I’ve got what I need.”

  Tessa steps toward the window, glancing out. “Are you ready?”

  Kai takes a deep breath, her eyes flickering back to the door, then to the room around her. The house. Her life. Her family. She feels like a stranger here now, but still—there’s no turning back. Not now.

  “I’m ready,” Kai says quietly, her voice firm despite the uncertainty still gnawing at her. She looks at Tessa, then down at the note she’s written: I need time to think. I’m okay. I’ll be back soon. The words feel final, even though she’s not sure what they really mean.

  Tessa gives her a nod of approval, her eyes steady. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”

  With one last glance at the room, the perfect, flawless room that once defined her, Kai turns and heads toward the door. They move quickly down the stairs, Tessa ahead, the quiet hum of the house filling the space around them. There’s no sound now except for the faint echo of their footsteps.

  As they leave, the door closing softly behind them, Kai feels the weight of the decision settle in her chest. She’s stepping out of the life she’s known. Just for a couple of days. But in this moment, it feels like more than that.

  On the return to Tessa's the hovercar glides through the streets of Zenith, the soft hum of its engines almost drowned out by the sudden rush of memories crashing through Kai’s mind. She shuts her eyes, clutching the bag to her chest like a lifeline, her breath shaky as her thoughts spiral.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Her heart aches as the flood of memories takes hold—years of dinners, piano recitals, school, and quiet moments spent in her room, surrounded by perfection. She remembers being small, the way her mother would bend down and smooth her hair before a recital, whispering, “Remember, Kai, always look up, always be perfect.” The soft warmth of her mother’s hands, the smell of rose scent in the air, and her father’s distant but proud gaze watching from the doorway. She remembers practicing for hours, perfecting every note, every movement—striving for that flawless performance.

  She remembers her parents’ approval, how it felt like the greatest accomplishment to see their smiles even once in a blue moon. But it wasn’t just them—there were others, too. The classmates who always seemed to watch her with unspoken expectations, the quiet whispers in hallways that seemed to follow her everywhere. Did she make the grade? Was she accomplishing enough?

  Tears begin to well in her eyes as the images flood her mind—too many faces, too many years of trying to be everything they wanted her to be. Trying so hard to be perfect. Her mother’s voice, her father’s approval—they all blend into the white noise of expectations, of the things she’s now questioning. Was any of it real?

  Her throat tightens as the car passes by the towering structures of Zenith, the gleaming spires now seeming oppressive, suffocating.

  “Hey,” Tessa’s soft voice breaks through the chaos of her thoughts. Kai feels her friend’s hand settle on her shoulder, warm and steady. Tessa doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to, but her presence is a comfort. “I know it hurts. It’s a lot to take in.”

  The words don’t fully ease the tightness in Kai’s chest, but they help. Kai can feel the tears sliding down her cheeks, and despite herself, she lets out a soft sob. Her emotions break free all at once, and she clutches the bag even tighter, as if holding on to some semblance of stability.

  “Do you remember that class photo, fuck we were 8?” Tessa asks gently, her voice calm. She shifts slightly, as if looking at the sky outside the window. “Back when we were still in school, and we were all so… goofy. You, me, the whole class—all of us lined up. You were always in the front row. Your hair was so neat, always. I swear you were the one with the brightest smile in that photo.” Tessa’s voice cracks a little, her own memory tugging at her heartstrings.

  Kai nods, her breath catching as the image of that photo rises in her mind. She remembers the way they all looked, standing together. Her only friend—Tessa, her classmates—lined up in their pristine uniforms. She can almost feel the warmth of the sun that day, the way the sky seemed so clear. But even then, was something already off? The pressure. The constant need to look perfect. She had always smiled, always been the one to please everyone.

  “Do you remember how you’d always push us to be better?” Tessa continues softly, her tone light, almost teasing, but there’s affection there too. “You’d remind me to practice the piano, or to study for the tests. You were always the one who made sure we kept up with the rules. Everyone admired you for it, even if we did joke about it you know. It wasn’t just your family’s expectations, Kai. It was us, too. We looked up to you. I—I looked up to you.”

  Kai’s breath shudders as she turns toward Tessa, her tears falling freely now. She hadn’t realized how much she had carried, how deeply she had tried to live up to everyone’s image of her. The burden had always been hers to bear, even if she didn’t see it until now.

  “But we were kids,” Tessa murmurs, her thumb gently brushing the back of Kai’s hand, grounding her in the moment. “And you were just—you—back then. You weren’t trying to be perfect. You were just… you. The one who could always make the room brighter with your presence. I remember when we’d sneak out of our lessons and climb those trees by the river, and you’d laugh like you didn’t have a care in the world, even if we weren't supposed to leave that school-yard.”

  Kai’s chest tightens as the memory hits her. The sound of their laughter echoing through the trees, the way Tessa had dared her to climb higher, to risk it all just for the thrill of being free. In those moments, Kai wasn’t the daughter of the Zenithal. She wasn’t the perfect, controlled image everyone expected her to be. She was just a girl, her heart light and carefree.

  “I remember that too,” Kai whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I remember not caring about anything for that time, that's all faded now.”

  Tessa’s smile is soft, but it’s sad. “Yeah. It feels like a lifetime ago, huh?”

  They both fall into silence for a moment, the car moving steadily forward, the hum of the engines the only sound between them. Kai leans against the seat, still clutching the bag to her chest. Her heart feels raw, exposed, but there’s a strange comfort in the presence of her best friend.

  “You don’t have to be perfect anymore, Kai,” Tessa says quietly, her voice full of warmth. “You don’t have to be what they expect you to be. You are perfect, just as you are.”

  Kai doesn’t answer right away, the weight of Tessa’s words settling over her. She knows it’s true, deep down. But the road ahead is long, and she still doesn’t know where it’ll take her. She takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and for the first time in a long while, she feels like she’s allowed to be more than just the perfect daughter, the perfect student. She can be something else.

  “Thank you, Tess,” she whispers, her voice shaky but grateful.

  Tessa squeezes her hand, offering her the kind of comfort that only someone who’s shared a lifetime of memories can give.

  “I’m always here, Kai. Always.”

  And for the first time today, Kai allows herself to believe it. Though still reeling in thought.

  The hovercar drifts into place outside Tessa’s house, its near-silent hum fading into the early morning stillness. The moment the doors lift open, Kai steps out, gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles ache.

  The weight of it—too light, too little—settles deep in her chest.

  Tessa steps out after her, stretching her arms above her head like this is just another morning. Like this is normal. Like Kai’s world hasn’t just crumbled beneath her.

  The door slides shut behind them, and for a moment, neither of them speak.

  Kai stares ahead at the house—a stark contrast to hers. Tessa’s home is still sleek, still Zenith-made, but lived-in. A little messy, a little imperfect. Signs of a life that isn’t monitored to perfection.

  Her throat feels tight.

  "I didn’t bring enough," Kai blurts, her voice barely above a whisper. "I should’ve taken more time."

  Tessa turns, eyebrow raised. "You grabbed what you needed, right?"

  Kai hesitates, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "I don’t know. Maybe."

  She feels raw saying it out loud. The truth is, she doesn’t know anything right now.

  Tessa exhales, stepping closer. "Kai, look at me."

  Kai does.

  "This isn’t about what’s in that bag," Tessa says, tilting her head toward it. "It’s about what’s in here." She taps two fingers against Kai’s chest. "And you made the choice."

  Kai’s lips press together, but she doesn’t respond.

  She made the choice. But now that she’s standing here, it feels bigger than her.

  Tessa softens. "Come inside," she says, nudging Kai’s shoulder. "Breathe. We’ve got time before we go."

  Kai wants to believe her. She really does.

  The door slides shut behind them, locking out the sterile silence of Zenith’s morning. Inside, the air is warmer, heavier—not in temperature, but in presence.

  Kai drops her bag by the door, running a hand through her hair. She feels unmoored, floating.

  Tessa moves easily through the space, stepping into the kitchen and grabbing two cups from a cabinet. A routine, something familiar.

  "Tea?" she asks.

  Kai blinks at her. "How are you so calm?"

  Tessa lets out a short laugh, setting the cups down. "Would you rather I panic?"

  "No, but—" Kai exhales sharply. "I left them a note, Tessa. My parents? I don't think it was enough."

  Tessa leans against the counter, crossing her arms. "You could be right. but it means you're not dead."

  "Or it means they’ll send security after me."

  "You’re overthinking it."

  Kai shakes her head, pacing slightly. "No, I’m not. You don’t know them like I do. My mother—" she stops, swallowing. "She’s never had to worry about me. I’ve never given her a reason to."

  Tessa watches her carefully.

  Kai’s voice wavers. "Until now."

  Silence stretches between them, but not an empty silence. It’s full—of weight, of things unspoken.

  Tessa pushes off the counter, grabbing the two tea cups and handing one to Kai. She doesn’t force her to drink, just offers it—something steady to hold.

  "I know this feels huge," Tessa says finally. "And yeah, maybe they’ll come looking. Maybe they’ll freak out. But do you really think they’d throw you out completely?"

  Kai blinks. "What?"

  "Do you really think your parents would exile you?" Tessa clarifies. "Or are you scared that they won’t fight for you at all?"

  The words hit like a physical force.

  Kai doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know the answer.

  Tessa watches her for a long moment before sighing. "Look, you don’t have to figure all of that out right now." She gestures to the tea. "Drink. Breathe. We leave soon."

  Kai looks down at the cup in her hands. She doesn’t know if she can stomach it, but she holds on anyway.

  Kai sat curled into the corner of Tessa’s couch, knees pulled up, fingers wrapped around the cooling tea. The air inside was thick with quiet, but outside, the city was starting to stir.

  She could hear the distant hum of early commuters, the murmur of morning routines unfolding in perfect, sterile order.

  In her head, she could still see her room—untouched, still, as if she’d never lived there at all. The note she left on the pristine glass desk.

  She wondered if her mother had seen it yet.

  Her chest tightened, and she shut her eyes. Just for a moment.

  Tessa let her sit in silence. She wasn’t one to hover. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost careful.

  “You good?”

  Kai let out a slow breath. "I don't know."

  "That’s fair." Tessa leaned against the back of the couch, stretching her arms behind her head. "You don’t have to be."

  Kai nodded absently, staring into her tea. She wanted to believe that.

  There was a rustling sound, and out of the corner of her eye, Kai saw Tessa reach into the pocket of her jacket.

  A second later, the sharp scent of something forbidden cut through the air. Kai looked up just in time to see Tessa flick open a silver lighter, sparking the end of a cigarette.

  Kai blinked. “Are you serious?”

  Tessa smirked, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “What? You look like you could use something to take the edge off.”

  Kai wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She didn’t need to explain further. No one smoked in Zenith. The air was regulated, purified, engineered to be pristine. A cigarette was more than reckless—it was an act of defiance.

  Tessa, of course, didn’t care.

  She stretched lazily, her golden-perfect exterior untouched by the small rebellions she indulged in behind closed doors. “Relax, it’s from the Sanctum. The real thing.” She rolled the cigarette between her fingers. "No synthetics, no additives. A little relic of the past."

  Kai just stared at her. The past. That was exactly what perfection was running from, wasn’t it?

  Tessa studied her for a moment, then sighed and flicked the cigarette against the edge of the ceramic ashtray. The ember dimmed. “You ready to go?”

  Kai hesitated. She wasn't. But waiting wouldn’t change anything.

  She set the cup down, rubbing her hands over her face. "Yeah."

  The artificial morning sky shimmered above Tessa’s small district, a manufactured dawn casting long, blue-tinged shadows across the smooth stone pathways.

  It was quiet here, not far from the grand estates of the Zenith’s elite, where the hum of simulated crickets blended with the soft rustling of synthetic leaves. Tessa’s home, while modest by Zenith’s standards, still gleamed with the sterile perfection expected of the city’s upper echelon.

  Kai hesitated at the doorstep, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” she murmured.

  Tessa grinned, locking the door behind her. “Because you need to live a little.”

  The air smelled crisp, manufactured, carrying a faint hint of pine—programmed into the district’s controlled environment. But Kai knew that just beyond the outskirts, past the last of Zenith’s simulated perfection, the world turned untamed. The thought of it set her gaze on edge.

  They moved swiftly through the quiet streets, Tessa leading the way with practiced ease while Kai trailed behind, stealing glances over her shoulder. Every part of her urged caution—being caught outside the designated zones wasn’t just frowned upon; it was dangerous and now the mark?

  The further they walked, the thinner the air of artificiality became. Trees lined the edges of their path, their leaves flickering slightly under the glow of hidden projectors.

  The transition was seamless—where synthetic gave way to real, Kai couldn’t quite tell. But she felt it. The air was different, thicker, filled with something raw and untamed.

  “Tessa, how much further?” Kai asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Tessa didn’t answer immediately. She was always like this when she had a secret—half a smile, a glint of mischief in her eye, stringing Kai along until there was no turning back. “We’re close,” she finally said, pushing through a dense line of trees.

  Kai followed hesitantly, stepping over exposed roots that seemed to crawl toward her boots like grasping fingers. The city had never felt so far away.

  Then, the trees broke into a clearing.

  A wind much too real stirred the grass, sending a ripple through the tall blades that swayed in the sunlight. Here, the Zenith’s presence was nearly nonexistent. No humming lights, no sterile streets—just the vast expanse of the morning sky, unfiltered and endless.

  In the center of the clearing stood a single tree, smaller than the towering ones that framed the space. Its branches stretched outward, a wooden swing hanging from a sturdy limb, swaying gently in the breeze. Next to it, a bench sat half-buried in the earth, its surface worn smooth with time.

  Kai’s stomach twisted. “Tessa… what is this place?”

  Tessa turned, her face illuminated by the distant glow of Zenith behind them. “A place I come to think.”

  Kai took a step forward, fingers brushing against the rough bark of the tree. There was something surreal about it, something almost sacred. “Why bring me here?”

  Tessa plopped onto the swing, her fingers wrapping around the ropes. “Because I wanted you to see something real before we go further.”

  Kai swallowed hard. The world she knew had always been predictable, structured. But here, away from Zenith’s carefully maintained illusions, things felt… different.

  She wasn’t sure if that was terrifying or exhilarating, and with her emotions swirling from todays events, she didn't care.

  Tessa rocked back slightly, the bench creaking under her weight. “Sit with me for a minute?”

  Kai hesitated, then lowered herself down as well, eyes still locked on the quiet beauty around her.

  Whatever Tessa had planned next, Kai knew this was the last moment of stillness before everything changed.

  Tessa pushed aside the last tangle of brush behind the clearing, and the world opened before them.

  Kai stepped through, breath catching as she took in the sight.

  The industrial lift stood at the very edge of the cliff, an iron skeleton against the vast void beyond. Rust and time had eaten away at parts of it, the metal weathered and scarred, yet still standing, still waiting. Its cables stretched downward into nothingness, vanishing into the abyss below like veins into the earth.

  It looked like something left behind. Something forgotten.

  But more than that—it looked impossible.

  Everything in Zenith was pristine, polished to perfection. Its streets had no cracks, its buildings no wear. There was no history, no signs of a world that had existed before the one carved into glass and steel above.

  This was different.

  Tessa barely looked at it as she strode forward, moving with an ease that made Kai’s stomach twist. To her, this was just another trip. Another routine passage between two worlds.

  Kai wasn’t sure she could take a single step closer.

  But she did.

  Drawn forward despite the tightening in her chest, she reached out, fingertips brushing the metal framework. It was cold and solid beneath her touch, a stark contrast to the smooth, artificial perfection of her home.

  Her fingers trembled. Slowly, she lifted her hand from the rusted frame—hesitated—then pressed her palm against her face, tracing the biotech mark carved into her skin.

  For the first time today, she didn’t recoil from it.

  It didn’t feel like something foreign.

  It felt like a bridge between what she was and what she could be.

  A slow breath filled her lungs, steadying the thundering in her chest.

  "You’ve really used this?" she asked, voice steadier than before.

  Tessa grinned, leaning lazily against the railing. "More times than I can count."

  Kai let her hand fall away from her face, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. She stepped forward, closer to the edge, looking down at the city far below. The world she had always known sat high above it all, untouched, unchallenged. But down there, somewhere hidden beneath the shadows of Zenith’s towering skyline, lay something else. Something that had been calling to her before she even realized it.

  She swallowed hard. "How does it even still work?"

  Tessa shrugged. "Built to last. No one comes out here anymore, so no one’s bothered to shut it down."

  Kai glanced at her. "How do you know it won’t just… fall apart?"

  Tessa laughed, reaching for the rusted lever at the side of the platform. "Guess we’ll find out."

  Kai hesitated at the threshold of the lift, her pulse hammering as she stepped onto the platform. The metal groaned under their weight, the sound echoing into the void below. She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the rusted railing.

  Tessa, already leaning against the side like she owned the damn thing, flashed her a grin. “Nervous?”

  Kai shot her a look. “You’re not?”

  Tessa scoffed, grabbing the lever with one hand. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Before Kai could argue, Tessa yanked it down.

  The world dropped.

  Kai’s stomach wrenched into her throat as the lift plunged. The cables screamed, the platform shuddering violently, metal rattling so loud it drowned out her own panicked gasp.

  Then she wasn’t gasping—she was screaming.

  “TESSA, WHAT THE FUCK—”

  The wind roared past her ears, a deafening rush of air tearing at her clothes, her hair, her soul. The city lights above blurred into streaks of white and gold, swallowed by the abyss as they plummeted into the depths of the Sanctum.

  Tessa, the absolute lunatic, threw her arms up like this was some kind of sick amusement park ride. “WHOOO! Ain’t this the best?!”

  Kai could barely breathe. “WE’RE GONNA FUCKING DIE!”

  Tessa only laughed harder. “Oh, you sound just like me the first time! You’ll get over it.”

  Kai wanted to kill her. But first, she had to survive.

  The lift bucked, the cables lurching as if deciding whether to snap completely. Kai’s fingers dug into the railing, knuckles white, legs locked, every muscle in her body screaming HOLD ON OR DIE.

  The wind carried the scent of rust, oil, and centuries of dust. The sky above was gone now, replaced by an endless sprawl of metal and pipes, the underbelly of Zenith’s perfect world stretching out like the skeleton of a forgotten civilization.

  Then—just as her brain fully convinced her they were about to splatter at the bottom—the lift jerked.

  Slowing too fast, too sudden, the impact shot through her legs, rattling her bones. Her bag nearly slipped from her grasp as she stumbled forward, chest slamming against the railing.

  For a moment, she just breathed.

  Shaking, stunned, very much alive.

  Tessa, still grinning like a psychopath, leaned against the gate. “See? Not so bad.”

  Kai turned to her, still gripping the railing like it was the only thing tethering her to existence. “You are so fucking dead when we get off this thing.”

  Tessa smirked. “If you can walk straight after that, I’ll let you try.”

  The lift shuddered to a full stop, settling with a groaning sigh. The air down here was thick, heavy, filled with something Kai had never breathed before—real, raw life.

  At first it almost made her sick.

  She turned toward the world ahead of them, heartbeat still a wild drum in her chest.

  And for the first time in her life, the perfect order of Zenith felt like nothing but a memory.

  Kai’s legs wobbled as she stepped off the lift, her boots meeting solid ground—or, at least, something close to it. The earth beneath her felt uneven, cracked, real.

  Unlike the seamless, polished surfaces of Zenith, this ground had history. It bore the weight of those who had walked it before her, carried the scars of time in its jagged imperfections.

  She exhaled sharply, still feeling the ghost of the descent rattling in her bones. Tessa, ever unbothered, rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck, and gave her a sideways glance. “Told you it wasn’t that bad.”

  Kai shot her a glare but said nothing.

  The path before them was a winding stretch of paved but broken road, littered with the remnants of a world Zenith had long abandoned.

  There were street signs, actual ones, standing crooked at odd angles, rust eating away at the edges, their once-bright paint now chipped and faded. Kai reached out, trailing her fingers over the rough metal of a yield sign marked with a streak of neon-blue graffiti. The symbol was something unfamiliar, abstract, but it felt deliberate—like someone had left a signature on a world that refused to forget them.

  She could feel it already—the shift.

  The further they moved from the lift, the more the air changed. It was heavier here, thick with the scent of oil, metal, and something sweet. It was nothing like the sterile, citrus-clean nothingness of Zenith. This place smelled like life. It smelled like sweat and food and movement and things happening.

  Ahead, the road sloped downward toward the heart of the city.

  Tessa kicked a stray can out of the way as they walked, her pace casual. “First time I came here alone, I got lost for hours. No maps, no AI voices telling you where to go. Just people.”

  Kai barely heard her. She was too busy looking.

  There were cars here. Real cars. Not the hovering, silent gliders of Zenith, but things with wheels. Some small, rust-bitten, barely chugging along, others newer—sleek but imperfect. They lined the streets haphazardly, some with sun-faded paint, others with hastily patched dents, and one or two missing windows entirely.

  And the buses.

  Kai had never seen so many people crammed together at once. Through the grime-streaked windows, she saw men, women, children—faces pressed against glass, heads nodding with exhaustion or conversation.

  The seats were full, the aisles packed, yet somehow, people still managed to squeeze in. The doors shut with a mechanical hiss, and the vehicle rattled forward, not hovering, but rolling.

  Everything was moving, loud, full.

  There were street vendors set up along the walkways, tables crowded with real food, their voices calling out prices, haggling, laughing, cursing when someone tried to snag a piece of fruit and run.

  The stalls themselves were patched together, held up by sheer determination and too many zip ties. Handwritten signs advertised everything from fresh bread to engine parts.

  Music drifted from somewhere—a static-laced, warbling tune spilling out from a rickety old radio propped up on a crate. It was nothing like the orchestrated, algorithmically engineered soundtracks that played in Zenith’s shopping districts. This was raw, distorted, human.

  Kai could hardly process it all.

  She had spent her entire life believing that perfection was all that existed. That Zenith’s clean lines, muted tones, and whispered efficiency were the pinnacle of what a city could be. But this—this chaos, this color, this fucking mess—

  It was alive.

  And for the first time, she wondered if perfection had been nothing but a carefully constructed lie.

  Tessa smirked at her silence, nudging her shoulder. “Yeah,” she murmured, almost like she could hear her thoughts. “That’s how it gets you.”

  Kai barely managed a breath. “It’s so…”

  “Much?”

  She nodded.

  Tessa tilted her head toward the skyline ahead, where the glow of neon signs flickered against the darkened underbelly of the upper city. “Wait till we get to the nightlife district of Sanctum.”

  Kai swallowed, forcing her legs to keep moving forward.

  She had no idea what came next.

  With the trails of today, she wanted to find out.

  The streets of Sanctum stretched before them like an unraveling map of the forgotten and the free. Every block was a new kind of alive—a riot of color against the dull backdrop of the city Kai had known.

  They passed by mismatched buildings, stacked haphazardly as if someone had built them without ever looking at a blueprint. Wires draped overhead, tangled like vines, some flickering with old bulbs, others feeding into neon signs that pulsed in soft, hazy hues. Some storefronts were still open, their doors propped by old crates or cinder blocks, spilling warm yellow light onto the street. Others had their shutters drawn, locked up for the time being or perhaps forever.

  There was graffiti everywhere. Some of it was simple—tags, names, warnings. Others were art, stretching across entire walls in sprawling, defiant strokes. A woman’s face, half-destroyed by time, smiled down from a brick wall with a crown of flowers. Beside her, words were scrawled in thick black paint:

  “ZENITH DOESN’T BREATHE. WE DO.”

  Kai couldn’t stop staring.

  She nearly ran into a man pushing a cart overflowing with scrap metal and old tech parts, the smell of rust and engine grease curling in the air. He shot her a look but didn’t say anything, just adjusted his grip on the handles and kept moving.

  Tessa grabbed her elbow and pulled her aside before she could stumble into the next obstacle. “Gotta watch where you’re going, princess.”

  Kai blinked. “I was just—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Tessa smirked, but her eyes were knowing. “It’s a lot. But you’ll get used to it.”

  They passed a small plaza, where a few people sat on cracked benches, hunched over steaming bowls of food. The smell hit Kai in a wave—spices, something fried, something rich. Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t even thought about food since they left Zenith.

  Tessa must have noticed because she tilted her head toward a glowing sign ahead. “Let’s get a drink first.”

  The sign hummed in neon pink and electric blue.

  MARCATO.

  The bar sat nestled between two towering buildings, its front bathed in the shifting glow of its own sign. The entrance was open, just a short flight of stairs leading down into a den of noise and warmth.

  Inside, the air was thicker, heavier, pulsing with the deep bass of a song Kai didn’t recognize. The walls were covered in old music posters, some torn at the edges, others layered over each other in a collage of past performances and forgotten nights. The scent of alcohol, sweat, and something vaguely smoky wove together, grounding the space in a kind of gritty intimacy.

  Tessa led the way to the bar counter, where a bartender—a broad-shouldered man with silver rings stacked on his fingers—was wiping down the surface with slow, practiced movements.

  “What’ll it be?” he asked without looking up.

  Tessa slid into a stool, tapping her fingers on the counter. “Just a beer.”

  Kai hesitated. She glanced at the menu scrawled on a board behind the bar—half the letters missing, some of the prices smudged. The drinks weren’t like anything she’d seen in Zenith, but one caught her eye. It sounded decadent, extravagant, ridiculous.

  She lifted her chin slightly. “I’ll have the Aurelian Blossom.”

  Tessa snorted.

  The bartender finally looked up, his gaze flicking between them before exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, sure.”

  Kai sat straighter. The name alone felt like it carried weight—like something only Zenith elites would drink. Maybe it would taste like the world she’d left behind.

  But when he returned, he set down two identical bottles. Dark brown glass, condensation dripping down the sides.

  Tessa was already reaching for hers, but Kai just stared.

  The bartender smirked. “Sorry. We’re out of that.”

  Tessa nearly choked on her first sip, trying to hold back laughter.

  Kai’s face burned, but she grabbed the bottle anyway, pressing her fingers against the wet glass.

  She took a sip.

  It was bitter, unpolished, imperfect.

  Yet somehow, she didn’t hate it.

  Before Kai could say anything, Tessa reached over and spun her stool around, forcing her to take in the entire room.

  Marcato wasn’t like the bars in Zenith—those places were sterile, curated, designed for polite conversation and whispered deals. This place breathed. It was alive in a way Kai had never seen before.

  The music throbbed from speakers strung up in the corners, the sound not crisp and clean but raw, layered with the crackle of old tech. A small dance floor stretched across the center, a mass of bodies moving in sync, some with their hands lifted to the ceiling, some pressed close together, some just lost in their own rhythm. The flashing neon lights from the walls caught on sweat-slick skin and fabric that shimmered with movement.

  Kai blinked as her gaze fell on them—the marks.

  At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. But as she let her vision adjust, she saw them clearly.

  A woman twirled beneath the shifting glow of pink and blue light, her long dark hair whipping around her face. A mark trailed from her jaw down her throat, curling like ink under her skin. She was laughing, her partner spinning her with reckless abandon.

  A man leaned against the far wall, speaking to someone between drags of a cigarette. A streak of silver biotech ran from his temple to his cheekbone. He looked calm, relaxed. Not trying to hide anything.

  They were everywhere.

  Some were small, almost unnoticeable, peeking out from under sleeves or trailing behind ears. Others were bold, intricate, impossible to ignore. A boy sitting at a booth near the bar had one arm entirely synthetic, the plating designed like golden filigree. He knocked back his drink like it was nothing, grinning at his friends.

  Kai’s stomach twisted.

  Tessa was watching her closely. “You get it now?”

  Kai swallowed, still gripping the damp bottle in her hand. “This bar… it’s for—”

  “The marked.” Tessa nodded, leaning back against the counter, taking another sip of her beer. “That’s why the bartender didn’t even blink when he saw yours. That’s why no one’s staring at you like you’re some kind of fucking freak.”

  Kai let that sink in.

  She wasn’t being watched. She wasn’t being whispered about. No one looked at her like she was broken.

  A strange pressure she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying uncoiled in her chest.

  “But—how?” Kai’s voice was barely above the hum of the room. “I thought they were… I mean, I was told they were—”

  “Gone? Dead? Hiding?” Tessa smirked, setting her bottle down with a soft thunk. “Nah. They live. They drink. They dance.” She gestured toward the floor, where a couple locked hands and spun wildly to the beat, their laughter rising above the music. “They fucking enjoy themselves.”

  Kai tore her gaze away, staring down at her hands.

  Tessa nudged her knee. “Shit’s different here, Kai.”

  Kai exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the rim of her bottle.

  It was.

  The club was a sanctuary of rebellion—a far cry from the sterile, order-bound life Kai knew in Zenith. Flickering neon lights danced across the concrete walls, reflecting off the polished floor in a dizzying blur of colors.

  The bass of the music rattled through her chest, making her breath quicken, and the air hung thick with the mingling scents of cheap beer and smoke.

  People were everywhere, caught in a frenzied dance, their movements uninhibited, unrefined. Some laughed, others shouted, a few stood in groups, leaning into each other, their faces flushed from the heat and freedom of it all.

  It felt raw in a way that Kai couldn’t quite grasp.

  She sat at the small bar, the bottle of beer in her hand strangely heavy, as if the weight of her thoughts was sinking into the glass.

  Kai tried to focus on what Tessa was saying, but the words felt like they were coming from a distant place—like she was hearing them through a thick fog.

  Her gaze kept drifting toward the walls, towards the strange artwork that splashed across the otherwise grimy concrete. Graffiti. It wasn’t just any graffiti, though. This was a statement. Bold, rebellious, like a punch to the gut.

  Down With Zenith was scrawled in thick strokes across the mural, surrounded by layers of chaotic colors, fractured shapes, and jagged lines that seemed to vibrate with urgency.

  Tessa’s finger pointed to it, and Kai’s eyes followed. The symbol of the Sanctum, a group she’d only heard whispers of, was emblazoned on the wall as if it were a flag of defiance.

  Kai’s fingers tightened around the neck of her beer bottle, the coldness of it doing little to calm the heat stirring within her.

  “See that?” Tessa’s voice cut through her thoughts, more insistent now. “That’s the work of the Sanctum. They’re the ones who do all this. They think Zenith is a lie, a gilded cage.”

  Kai blinked, the words slowly sinking in. “Why?” Her voice sounded distant even to her own ears. She felt like an outsider here, like she didn’t belong. This wasn’t her world. It couldn’t be.

  The chaos, the noise, the rawness—it was all so far from the polished, perfect world of Zenith. The world she’d been born into.

  The world that had raised her to believe that imperfection was the greatest sin. That something as small as the biotech mark on her face could disqualify her from everything she’d ever known.

  Tessa leaned forward, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

  “Because Zenith is a lie, Kai. They force you to be perfect, to fit their idea of what’s right, and if you don’t—” She paused, letting the words hang in the air.

  “You get discarded. Look at you.” She gestured lightly toward Kai’s face, the biotech mark just barely visible beneath the dim club lighting. “That mark... It’s the brand of the imperfect, isn’t it?”

  Kai’s fingers tensed, the word “imperfect” echoing in her mind like a curse. She tried to look away, but the image of the graffiti, the chaotic, untamed strokes of paint, seemed to pull her attention back.

  Tessa continued, her eyes gleaming with a fire Kai hadn’t seen before. “Zenith wants to keep everyone in their little boxes.

  All neat and perfect. But down here?” She spread her arms wide, taking in the chaos of the club. “Down here, we’re free. Free to be messy. Free to make mistakes. No one’s judging you. No one cares about that little mark on your face or your perfect little mask.”

  The words cut through Kai like a blade, sharp and unexpected.

  She hadn’t realized how much that mark had defined her today, how much it weighed on her. But here, Tessa was telling her—no one cared. Here, there were no expectations, no scrutiny.

  Kai wondered what it would feel like to let that weight go.

  Before she could respond, Tessa stood up, her eyes sparking with mischief. “You need to feel it, Kai. You need to really see what it’s like to be free.”

  “What?” Kai looked up, confused, her grip on the beer bottle tightening, her body stiffening. “I—Tessa, I don’t know—”

  But Tessa wasn’t waiting for an answer. With a grin, she grabbed Kai’s wrist and tugged her up from the table with surprising strength.

  The sudden motion jolted Kai out of her daze, her mind racing as she stumbled to her feet. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her tongue as Tessa pulled her through the crowd.

  People bumped into them, their faces flushed with excitement, the music vibrating so deeply that it almost felt like it was inside her bones.

  Tessa didn’t stop. She pulled Kai forward, and soon, they were at the center of the dance floor.

  The lights overhead flashed in time with the music, blinding and erratic, as if the world itself were coming alive. Kai felt herself caught in the surge of bodies, the heat of the room pressing against her.

  For a moment, she panicked. She wasn’t like these people. She couldn’t move like that, lose herself in the music. Not with all the eyes on her, not with the mark still there on her skin.

  “Just let go, Kai,” Tessa’s voice came again, but this time it was softer, more soothing. “No one cares. Let it out. You don’t have to be perfect.”

  Kai hesitated, her heart pounding. Her body tensed, her mind racing. Could she really do this? Could she really let go?

  The emotions that held her down, the weight of her parents’ expectations, of Zenith’s rules, all seemed to hover around her, suffocating. But then, for a split second, something inside her—something deep and hidden—yearned for the freedom Tessa was offering.

  With a shaky breath, Kai began to move, at first awkwardly, then with a little more fluidity as the beat of the music seeped into her.

  The thumping bass filled her chest, her legs, her arms—everything. She felt the energy of the crowd, the heat of the room, the rush of freedom that came with every pulse of the music.

  The mark on her face—it no longer felt like a brand. It was just part of her, like the rhythm that had started to flow through her.

  Tessa was beside her, grinning like she knew exactly what was happening. “That’s it,” she said, her voice barely audible over the music. “You don’t have to be anything you’re not. Just be here. Just be.”

  Kai’s heart swelled in her chest. She felt alive. Really alive. She didn’t feel the need to hide. To pretend.

  She could just... be. And in that moment, as the music swirled around her and the world seemed to disappear into the flashing lights and the beat, Kai realized something she hadn’t known before.

  She didn’t have to be perfect. Not here. Not ever.

  The music seemed to grow louder, more urgent, like it was pulling Kai deeper into the pulse of the room. Her body moved with the beat now, no longer stiff or hesitant.

  She swayed, let go of the tension in her shoulders, her feet following the rhythm without a second thought. It felt like shedding a skin she’d been wearing for years, each movement a release of the perfect, controlled Kai she’d always been expected to be.

  The lights spun in every direction, kaleidoscopic and dizzying, and the crowd around them blurred in a haze of motion. Faces flickered by, strangers, yet none of them seemed to care about the mark on her face. It wasn’t there to them. It was just her, in this moment, as raw and unguarded as everyone else.

  Tessa danced next to her, her grin wide and contagious, her movements free, like someone who had been living this way all her life. She caught Kai’s eye, the unspoken joy between them bubbling up like an uncontainable laugh.

  “You’re doing it!” Tessa shouted over the music, her voice an echo in the frenetic energy around them. “You’re really doing it! Look at you!”

  Kai’s chest was rising and falling with the beat, her breath faster now, but her smile couldn’t be contained.

  Her limbs felt weightless, almost like she was floating, but it wasn’t the music or the adrenaline that was lifting her—it was something else. Something deep inside, a part of her she hadn’t known she was holding back.

  “I—” Kai tried to speak, but the words didn’t come out as clearly as she wanted. It didn’t matter. The feeling was louder than any words could be. Her hands lifted, her body moving to the rhythm with a newfound freedom that felt strange and beautiful.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Tessa leaned in closer, her voice barely more than a whisper now. “You don’t need to be perfect here. You’re just... you.”

  Kai nodded, her heart pounding in a way that was both familiar and thrilling. She didn’t have to be perfect. She could just exist, just move, just be. And that thought—simple, but so profound—carried her deeper into the dance, into the night.

  Eventually, the song slowed, and Kai felt the world around her shift. The dizzying lights, the rush of sound, the heat of the crowd—it began to fade, just for a moment, as her breathing slowed.

  But the lightness in her chest didn’t leave. She could feel Tessa beside her, still grinning, her eyes bright.

  “That was...” Kai started, her voice full of awe, but Tessa raised her hand, cutting her off.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, laughing. “It’s like... like you were born to move like that, right?” Tessa’s smile was wicked, but it softened with something almost tender. “I knew you had it in you.”

  Kai felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t hide it. “I didn’t even know I could... let go like that.”

  “Well, you just did. And don’t you forget it.” Tessa linked her arm with Kai’s, pulling her toward the edge of the dance floor. “But now, you’re gonna need some real food. Real food, Kai. Not that synthetic stuff they sell in Zenith.”

  Kai’s stomach growled at the mention of food, and she couldn’t help but laugh, still a little breathless from the dance. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d gotten, but now that Tessa mentioned it, the thought of real, solid food sounded like heaven. “What do you mean, real food?”

  Tessa raised an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’ll see.” She led Kai through the crowd, back toward the door.

  “This place may be rough around the edges, but it’s got the best food. No biotech in it. No synthetic nonsense. Just actual, honest food. You’re gonna love it.”

  As they stepped into the night air, the cool breeze hit Kai’s skin, and for the first time that evening, she became aware of how much her body had been holding onto before tonight—tension, unease, the weight of expectations. But all of that was starting to slip away, piece by piece.

  Tessa pulled her toward a small, dimly lit food cart parked near the alley. A neon sign above it flickered, advertising Real Food in bright, red letters.

  The smell hit her next, a savory mix of grilled meat, spices, and something rich and satisfying that made her stomach growl louder. This was nothing like the sterile, tasteless meals they had in Zenith.

  “What is this place?” Kai asked, her voice still tinged with disbelief.

  Tessa grinned. “Like I said, real food. None of that processed junk they try to pass off as food in Zenith.” She stepped up to the cart, exchanged a few coins with the cook, and handed Kai a steaming plate. “Dig in.”

  Kai took the plate from her, and the warm, earthy scent filled her nose.

  The food was simple—grilled vegetables, meat that smelled like it had actually been cooked with care, and a sauce that smelled both spicy and sweet. She took a bite, and the flavors exploded on her tongue, rich and full in a way she hadn’t tasted in years.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the food. It was so... real. So different from the synthetic meals she was used to in Zenith. This was life.

  This was what it felt like to eat something made with hands that cared. Not like the sterile, perfect meals prepared by automated kitchens in Zenith.

  “This is... amazing,” Kai muttered, taking another bite.

  Tessa laughed, watching her with an amused smile. “Told you. This is what food’s supposed to taste like. Not that plastic, genetically altered stuff they sell in Zenith. This...” She shrugged, looking around at the quiet street, the stars above them. “This is freedom, Kai. The real kind.”

  Kai glanced at her, feeling a warmth in her chest that wasn’t just from the food. “You were right,” she said softly. “About everything. About this place, about letting go.”

  Tessa gave her a knowing look. “You’re welcome, my friend. Welcome to the other side.”

  Kai smiled, finally understanding what Tessa meant. She wasn’t just talking about the food or the dance or the club. She was talking about something deeper—the freedom to exist without the pressure of perfection. To embrace the raw, the real, the messy. To just be.

  And for the first time in a long time, Kai didn’t feel like she was pretending.