Zech wears a brash smirk, swinging a heavy ring of keys between his fingers. The metal shrieks rhythmically.

  ?Yes,? Zech affirms, savoring his friend's dismay. ?I "borrowed" the warehouse keys from my mother. Having the Head of the Castle’s Custodians in the family has its perks. We’re going to pay Giada a visit sooner than planned. What do you think? Darkness falls in a few hours, and only a few bored guards will be left on duty. We enter through the central warehouse; there’s a hatch there that leads straight into the heart of the clinic.?

  Elian swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his taut throat. He pulls up a stool and sits opposite his friend. ?Zech, this is one of your usual lunacies. The last time, when we slipped into the school offices for the questionnaires, it was a boyish prank. But this... here we risk crossing Vargo Cortez, perhaps even General Valerius himself. They’ll throw us beyond the walls, Zech. Or worse, condemn us to forced labor for life.?

  Zech’s smile remains fixed. His is the courage of those with nothing to lose. ?It’s not the first time I’ve entered the clinic without permission, Elian. The secret is indifference. People only ask questions if they see you moving like a thief. If we walk with confidence, we look like two workers who know their business. Besides, the guards are all on the perimeter. We’ll emerge from the inside, like ghosts.?

  ***

  When the darkness devours the last golden reflections upon the Castle walls, Elian and Zech move as shadows among shadows. The central warehouse looms before them like a colossus of stone and iron—a barred temple guarding the vital reserves of the entire community. No human guards stand at the main door; security here relies on the sheer mass of the structure and the heavy metal gate. And on that lock which only a chosen few can turn.

  Zech scans the surroundings with the wariness of a wild animal, then slides the heavy key into the door’s heart. The metal screeches—a lament that vibrates in Elian’s very bones—and then the door yields, opening just enough for them to slip inside.

  The interior is an abyss of geometric shapes and suffocating scents. High walls of wooden crates, stacked until they graze the ceiling beams, create a labyrinth of narrow, blind corridors. The air is stagnant, heavy with the cloying aroma of stored grain, weapon grease, and aged leather. Every step the boys take stirs a fine dust that dances in the dim shafts of light filtering through the high iron grates.

  Elian moves with shallow breath. In the past, they had crossed this threshold for sport, seeking to snatch an extra ration or a piece of dried meat. Back then, they were the "outcasts" of their generation, bound by a loneliness that rendered them invisible. Those small infractions were their way of feeling alive. But now, everything has shifted. They are adults now, past their eighteenth year, and the Castle no longer forgives "pranks."

  They reach a dead end in the warehouse, standing before a heavy metal hatch. Zech inserts another key and, with Elian’s help, heaves the lid open. They strive for silence. Beyond the hatch, a ladder descends into a black void.

  Zech lights his oil lantern, revealing the corridor below. Slowly, the boys descend, entering the very bowels of the Castle.

  They advance through the silence, guided by the lantern’s flicker. After a few minutes, they find themselves beneath a staircase leading to a second hatch.

  ?Here comes the difficult part,? Zech whispers. ?We must hope the room above is empty.? He climbs the rungs and presses his ear against the cold metal. Eternal minutes pass. Silence. Zech shifts the hatch with millimetric slowness and signals Elian to ascend.

  They emerge in the medical storehouse. The chemical sting of alcohol and disinfectant is sharp, almost staggering. Elian immediately recognizes the corridor outside: to the left lie the patient wards; to the right, the medical staff offices. He knows Giada and Mira are isolated in the "ordinary" section, reserved for those awaiting the results of contamination tests.

  They reach the central junction. A staircase leads to the upper floors, where the severe cases lie—the contaminated who scream in their sleep. To the right, at the end of the hall, stands the heavy door to the men’s ward. Elian freezes at the thought that Vargo Cortez might be behind those doors.

  ?Zech, what if they’re asleep?? Elian whispers, seized by sudden doubt.

  Zech snickers. ?If they’re asleep, you give her a big kiss and we run!?

  Elian flushes, turning red as dying embers. ?Go to hell!?

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  They creep forward. The corridor is deserted, lit only by dim emergency lamps. They reach the door of the women's ward. Elian knows that, by protocol, Giada and Mira cannot be housed with other patients for at least twenty-four hours. They stop. From within comes Giada's weary voice: ?...convenient having the ward to ourselves, but it’s depressing, Mira.?

  Without knocking, Zech flings the doors open, dragging Elian in his wake. ?Greetings, ladies!? Zech exclaims, as if entering a tavern. Elian, half-hidden behind his friend's shoulder, offers a timid wave.

  Giada and Mira are stunned. Giada sits on the edge of her bed, wearing an aseptic white gown over her pale blue clinic pajamas. Despite the fatigue, she appears to Elian’s eyes as beautiful and frighteningly real.

  ?Zech? Elian?? Giada springs to her feet, her gaze frantic. ?What are you doing here?! Do you realize the risk you're taking?!?

  ?It was Zech's idea!? Elian justifies himself instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  Mira Vance, from the other bed, bursts into laughter. ?Entering a ladies' room like this is rude, but the boredom was killing me. You’re forgiven, you idiots.?

  Giada crosses her arms, shaking her head. ?You are fools.?

  ?We wanted to be the first to welcome you back,? Elian smiles, trying to regain his composure. ?I studied the protocols; I knew you’d be here under observation.?

  ?Have you been studying the dangers of the Wastes to give us tips? Or rather, to give them to Giada?? Mira probes with a malicious smirk.

  Elian ignores the provocation, though his ears burn. ?Yes, actually. While you were on expedition, I deeply studied the explorers' chronicles and everything useful regarding the dangers of the Desolate Lands.?

  But Giada cuts him off sharply. ?Speak softly, Elian. Please. Captain Cortez has already explained everything we need to know.?

  Mira intervenes, her voice laced with subtle bitterness toward her rival. ?I believe having someone intelligent with a library full of three centuries of chronicles is useful, Giada. Don't be so precious.?

  Zech adds: ?Exactly. Elian is doing special studies with Master Silas. We are your intelligence.?

  Giada sighs, her gaze softening. ?Thank you. Truly. Thank you, Elian. But field experience is another thing entirely. I don't agree with this madness, but... thank you.?

  Elian takes a step forward, letting every mask fall. ?I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Giada. It’s hard staying in the Castle, unable to do anything for those who are outside.?

  The words hang in the air, heavy with everything Elian cannot say. Giada looks at her, and for an instant, her desire for freedom seems to falter before a sentiment so pure, so static. Then she shakes herself. ?Go now. Before they find you.? She grants them both a brief embrace—a quick contact that, for Elian, is worth more than a thousand books.

  Zech and Elian smile and, with the same caution they arrived with, vanish beyond the door, heading for the hatch.

  Silence returns to the room, broken only by the hum of the electric lamps granted to vital wards like the clinic. Giada remains motionless by the door, staring at the painted wood as if she could still see Elian’s shadow there.

  Mira Vance sits up, the sheets rustling beneath her. She watches Giada with a contempt she can no longer contain.

  ?That was entertaining, Giada. Really,? Mira begins, her voice low and cutting. ?Watching how you dismissed him while that poor idiot looked at you as if you were the only living thing in this heap of stones. I wonder how you don't vomit from the loathing you feel for yourself.?

  Giada does not turn. ?You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mira. Be quiet.?

  ?No, I know exactly what I’m talking about!? Mira snaps, exhaustion weighing on her body and soul. ?I’m a stray. I grew up eating rats if I had to, and I always dreamed of someone risking their skin just to bring me a greeting. And you? You have a Serpieri who worships you, and you treat him like a stain on your uniform. Why? For Cortez? To look better in the Captain's eyes??

  Giada spins around, her eyes shimmering with a rage on the brink of explosion. ?You think this is a game? You think I want to see him die? If I let him in, Mira, he becomes a target. If I love him, I kill him! I condemn him to suffer more. That’s what you don't understand. In here, love is a luxury that gets you killed, both inside and outside the Castle walls. And my family needs my contribution.?

  Mira laughs, a bitter, dry sound. ?Bulls**t. You reject him because you’re afraid he reminds you that you’re still human. As long as you’re Vargo’s 'favorite,' you’re a soldier, a piece of iron. If you become Elian’s woman, you go back to being Giada. And Giada is afraid of the dark, isn't she? You’d rather be a weapon in the hands of a powerful man than the companion of a gentle failure. You feel safer behind a rifle than behind a kiss, don't you??

  Giada trembles. Her knuckles are white as she grips the bed frame. ?He is good. But he is also weak. And I cannot afford weakness. I’m doing a favor to myself, but mostly to him! You envy me because you want the Captain's attention, maybe a father figure, but I envy you, Mira. Because at least you are honest in your hate. I, on the other hand, cannot afford it.?

  Mira lies back down, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. Her anger seems drained, leaving only a cold realization. ?We’re both trash, Giada. Only I know I am. You’re still trying to convince yourself that your sacrifice means something. But at the end of the day, it’ll just be me, you, and this smell of disinfectant. And your Serpieri, whether you want it or not, lives in the same s**t we’re buried in up to our necks.?

  Giada switches off her bedside light. Darkness envelops them both, but the remaining silence is heavier than any word spoken.

  In Giada’s heart, for a moment, uncertainty reigns. What if Mira is right? What if trying to prove to the world that she too can save humanity is actually a way to flee from a happiness she believes she doesn't deserve?

  A single tear falls from Giada’s face as she tries to find sleep.