The next morning, Elara is gone before I wake up. It's not unusual—she's always up early, leaving before the slums come alive with the sound of groaning pipes, shuffling feet, and distant arguments.
The fruit she brought me yesterday sits on the table, untouched. I stare at it for a while, feeling the weight of her sacrifice. She works so hard to keep us alive, and I don't even know what she does to bring home things like this.
I want to believe it's just as she says—that she has "connections," that she's found some clever way to get what we need. But deep down, I know better. No one in the slums gives without taking something in return.
Determined to find answers, I decide to head out.
The slums are a labyrinth of narrow alleys, crumbling shacks, and rusting pipes. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, oil, and decay, and the faint hum of machinery echoes from the tower's upper levels. As I weave through the crowds, I catch snippets of conversation—rumors about disappearances, whispers of nobles descending from the heights, and warnings to stay out of sight after dark.
"Elara!" a voice calls out, pulling me from my thoughts.
I turn to see a woman standing at the entrance of a small market stall. She's older, her face lined with years of hardship, but there's a warmth in her eyes as she smiles at me.
"Your sister was here earlier," she says, gesturing to the stall behind her. "She's been helping out again, hasn't she?"
I blink, surprised. "Helping out?"
The woman chuckles. "She's always so kind, that girl. Bringing food to the little ones, making sure they've got something to eat. Not many people down here would do that."
I don't know what to say. Elara never mentioned anything like this.
"She didn't tell you, did she?" the woman says, her smile softening. "That's just like her. Always putting others first."
I nod, muttering a quick thank you before continuing on my way. My chest feels tight, a strange mix of pride and guilt swirling inside me. Elara's been doing so much more than I realized—not just for me, but for others too.
But it only makes me more determined to understand how she's doing it.
Later, I find myself in the shadow of one of the larger buildings that loom over the slums. It's a place I've avoided before—a gathering spot for those who deal in things better left unseen.
As I approach, a man steps out of the shadows, his eyes sharp and calculating. He's tall and lean, with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes.
"You're Elara's brother, aren't you?" he says, his voice low and smooth.
I freeze. "How do you know that?"
He chuckles, leaning against the wall. "Everyone knows Elara. She's got quite the reputation down here. Always working, always hustling. You should be proud."
There's something in his tone that makes my stomach twist.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice tense.
The man's smirk widens. "She's a survivor, that one. Does whatever it takes to keep you both afloat. Even if it means dealing with people like me."
My hands clench into fists. "What kind of work does she do?"
He raises an eyebrow, his smirk fading slightly. "You really don't know, do you?"
I glare at him, but he just laughs, shaking his head. "Relax, kid. Your sister's not the first to make sacrifices in this place. She's got guts, I'll give her that."
Before I can say anything else, he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving me standing there, my mind racing.
When Elara returns that evening, I'm waiting for her.
She barely has time to set down the bundle of food she's brought before I speak. "Elara, we need to talk."
She looks up, startled. "What is it?"
"I ran into someone today," I say, my voice tight. "He said you've been... making sacrifices."
Her expression darkens, and for a moment, I see a flash of something in her eyes—fear, anger, maybe both.
"You shouldn't be talking to people like that," she says, her voice low.
"Elara, what are you doing?" I ask, stepping closer. "How are you getting all of this? The food, the water, the fruit... how are you paying for it?"
She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor. "It doesn't matter," she says finally. "What matters is that we're surviving."
"It does matter," I insist. "I don't want you putting yourself in danger for me."
She looks up then, her eyes fierce. "You think I'm doing this just for you?" she snaps. "Adam, this is the only way I know how to survive. For both of us. If I don't do this, we'll starve. Is that what you want?"
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
"Elara..."
She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You're my brother," she says softly. "And I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. No matter what."
I nod, though the knot in my chest only tightens.
That night, I lie awake, the weight of Elara's sacrifice pressing down on me. I don't know what she's doing, not exactly, but I can't shake the feeling that it's only a matter of time before it catches up to her.
And when it does, I'm afraid I won't be able to protect her.