The tunnels which wound underneath the Lower City were intense and confusing, a maze-like structure hidden underfoot for years. My eyes stayed locked on Krane’s back, noting the ease in his steps, surprised at how confidently he navigated the passages. He moved like someone who’d walked them more than once.
"I think these were used by the rebels at some point," Krane's voice travelled back to me, echoing slightly off the concrete walls, "before the last rebellion, at least. I don't think they've been through since."
"So this is what you do when I'm not around?" I teased. Krane slowed, turning just enough to meet my eyes, eyebrow raised as he readjusted the bag straps on his shoulders.
"Jealous I was adventuring without you?"
"And I felt guilty for almost checking out the P.I.P. door without you." I gave a mock-sigh. "I feel betrayed." I caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched before he chuckled and kept walking. "Next time I won't wait. You owe me an adventure." My retort drew a louder laugh that echoed faintly down the tunnel.
"I'll make it up to you," he promised, voice softer this time. There was something in the way he said it that made me glance at him a moment longer than I should have.
About an hour in, the tunnels changed drastically. The air was colder. The walls darkened with grime, lights either flickering or dead. My gut twisted—this was near the restricted sector. Not even cleaning bots ventured this far, which explained the layer of sludge underfoot. Occasionally the tunnel branched off, Krane pausing at each split, scanning the wall for faded markers—scratches, symbols—his fingers brushing them like he knew them intimately.
My unease grew. Maybe it was paranoia, or the unfamiliar territory and dark pressing in, but as we passed a tunnel dimmer than the rest, a shiver ran down my spine. Something in the air shifted. I paused, squinting into the dark corridor.
“This comes out near the P.I.P. reader,” Krane's voice startled me. I turned to see he had started to climb metal rungs recessed into the wall. I took a step forward to follow—but then froze.
A soft scuttling noise echoed from the tunnel behind us, my heart jumping into my throat. I whipped around, staring into the gloom. My eyes strained against the shadows, blurring with the effort. Something... something was there, crouched low at the bend...
"Are you seriously daydreaming again?" Krane’s voice jolted me from the trance. I looked up, heart pounding; He was leaning over the top rung, squinting down at me with a grin. I caught the gleam of his eyes. "I can check this out without you if you prefer to think about the Uppers some more?" I flipped him off. He smirked, his chuckle drifting back down.
One last glance into the empty darkness—nothing. Just shadows and nerves.
'Makers, get your head on straight, Mira.'
I climbed, the cold of the metal biting into my hands. My arm ached—the wound was healing, but the pain pulsed like a reminder. Krane had flushed and wrapped it carefully, holding my arm steady even when I winced. He seemed to ignore my cries when the disinfectant stung like acid. Part of me wondered if he found a little satisfaction in the pain, a silent punishment for the risk I’d taken. But then the memory of his hands lingering longer than they should have surfaced.
At the top, Krane helped me over the edge, his hand firm around my waist, fingers grazing longer than necessary. My breath caught, but I didn’t look at him, knowing he’d only throw a jest my way.
I cast another look down the shaft, expecting to see something waiting at the bottom. His eyes followed mine, a flicker of concern in his expression. I didn’t meet his gaze. No point in trying to explain a feeling I couldn’t name.
I stood, dusting my hands off—we were a few feet from the entrance to the building where I’d left the Upper, causing my pulse to quicken, stomach twisting. It had been nine days, my wound had mostly healed, but Calian’s had been worse.
'Was he still in there? Or had he left when I didn’t come back?' A sharp pang of guilt stabbed at my ribs.
I glanced at Krane. He was crouched over the tunnel, pushing the lid back in place. I hadn't noticed, but my feet were already pulling me toward the store.
'What if he was still inside? What if he wasn’t?' My stomach twisted at both thoughts.
"We should check the buildings." The words escaped before I could think. Krane looked up at me, brow furrowed.
"Why?" I hesitated, scrambling for a reason. His eyes stared at me.
"I thought... I heard someone inside." Just like that, I told him another lie.
He stood, gaze pinned to the storefront, alert. "Alright, but be careful. We don’t know who might still be holed up around here." He stepped forward, eyes scanning.
"Why would anyone live this close to the restricted sector?" I asked as Krane made his way over.
He shrugged. “People who lost their homes. Those who stopped working or couldn’t anymore. Strem says some scavenge and live off scraps instead.” His voice was quieter. Reflective.
I hummed. "Sounds like they know how to live better than we do."
Krane short laugh sounded harsh. "Many, if not most, die from livin' this way. They can’t marry, or have kids. Even if they do, the babies die—starved, sick... " He trailed off, jaw tight.
"You don't think it's a good idea?" I questioned, watching him carefully. He paused before answering.
"Struggling to raise a kid down here while working is one thing. Choosing to bring a baby into that kind of life—while cut off from everything they need? That’s not right. That’s not brave. That’s cruel, and stupid." His intensity caught me off guard. There was pain there, something unspoken in his tone, something personal. What had he seen?
"I don't want kids." the statement came out before I could stop myself, voice softer than I expected. Krane stopped, turned, blinking at me, clearly thrown by it. "I don't want them to live a life full of..." I gestured around us. motioning to the broken windows and collapsed shelves. "... This. If I do, I want them to know safety. Food. Security."
I thought he’d agree—but the look he gave me was unreadable. Distant, almost... disappointed?
"Did you see anyone go in?" he asked suddenly, too sharply.
"... What?" I asked, confused.
"In here. Did you see anyone?" The edge in his voice sent my thoughts spinning. I snapped back to the moment. Right. I was supposed to be checking if Calian was still here. I turned away, heart in my throat.
'What would Krane do if he was?' of course i***t me hadn't thought that far. I walked through one of the side, doors, checking my surroundings so it didn't look like I knew where I was going. My heart pounded heavily.
'Please still be here.'
But as I stepped into the room, my hopes collapsed. Gone. Only a dark stain on the floor where he’d bled, a few empty food wrappers and used medical wraps covered in blood lay in the corner, the faint scent of antiseptic still lingering. Krane entered behind me. I felt his breath hitch before he spoke.
"Mira… ” he grabbed my arm. “That stuff’s fresh. Which means… " His voice trailed off as his eyes met mine. "The Upper the guards are looking for—he was here. That’s why they couldn’t find him.” I stayed quiet, swallowing hard, my body relaxing. The tension of him discovering I already knew slipping from my spine. I shrugged.
"Well... he’s gone now,” I remarked, tone sharper than I meant. “Hopefully he got the hint and went back home." Krane frowned at the bitterness in my voice. "The sooner he does, the sooner I can too. The guards are only after me because they think I know where he is. Once they realise he’s gone, I can go back to my life." I turned and walked out, footsteps crunching over broken glass.
I stopped at the P.I.P. reader, its lights glowed faintly under my fingers. Krane came up beside me, holding the small card out to me. Our hands brushed as he offered it, and I glanced up at him, my gut doing its stupid giddy thing when I notice how close he was.
"Did you want to do the honors?" he murmured. Excitement surged through me at the thought of finally opening this door. I took the card with a grin, our fingers lingering for a beat too long. I slid the strip through the device. Nothing.
Krane touched my shoulder gently. "Maybe this area doesn’t have enough power— " A loud, distorted beep cut him off, the door hissed, screeching as it slowly slid open for the first time in years. My breath caught. I bounced on my heels, beaming. Krane’s grin mirrored mine, though his eyes lingered on me longer than the door.
"Just stay close. I don’t need to become one of Jerard’s targets if you get hurt exploring an extremely prohibited area with me."
I laughed. "Good thing I’ve got you to blame when things go wrong, yeah?" His eyes narrowed playfully. "Which also means, I have something to use against you when you're being an ass." his mouth hung open.
"You wouldn't!"
"Oh I would." My smirk widened. He returned his own wicked grin. My stomach flipped as he stepped closer.
"One day, Amira Gearmaster, I will make you eat those words." his voice was low, teasing. My chest hitched, smile hurting my face at his playfulness. I leaned into the jest, tapping his chest as our proximity shortened.
"Well for now, Krane Metalsmith, you can eat my dust." I brushed past him into the dark corridor, catching his soft, lingering smile just before the shadows swallowed us both.