I stared up into the sneering face of Mrs. Cranston, the laundry department matron.
"You dozed off, did you?" she snarled, crossing her arms. "You're not getting lunch today. Lazy children don't eat. Maybe that'll teach you to keep your eyes open."
My stomach twisted in disappointment.
Lunch was the one thing I looked forward to during these shifts, especially when I got to work at the Grand Arcadia. Some of the places we were sent barely fed us at all, just scraps of stale bread or leftovers no one else wanted. But here, even if it was just the hotel's leftovers, it was usually hearty and delicious—a rare treat. I'd been eagerly anticipating whatever they'd serve today, but now…
Now it was gone.
"Sorry, Mrs. Cranston," I muttered, swallowing the surge of anger and helplessness threatening to spill out. Talking back would only make it worse. I knew that all too well.
She scowled, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "You're not paid to nap," she snapped. "Now finish those linens, and maybe by tomorrow you'll have learned your lesson."
I watched her stalk off, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. My stomach rumbled painfully, but there was no point in dwelling on it. Hunger was a part of life at the Carter Orphanage. Breakfast didn't exist. Supper barely filled the gap. And lunch? Well, that depended on the whims of our "employers." The Carters didn't care if we ate, as long as the money kept coming in, and the officials who were supposed to protect kids like me? They turned a blind eye in exchange for their bribes.
The day dragged on like molasses, the weight of hours slipping past me in an agonizing crawl. My stomach gnawed at me, and my head throbbed from the heat and the suffocating air in the laundry room. The hum of the old machines seemed to vibrate deep into my bones, and the smell of detergent and damp linens clung to my skin, a constant reminder of the grueling work that would never end.
Just when I thought I might break, I felt a nudge at my elbow.
I turned and found Mat standing there, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He was younger, wiry, but there was a gleam in his face that made him look almost proud. In his hand, a crumpled piece of bread—barely enough to be called a snack, but in this place, it might as well have been a feast.
"Here, Alec. Got it for you," Mat whispered, pressing the bread into my palm.
My heart swelled, the quiet gesture more meaningful than words could say. Mat looked up to me like a big brother, and this small act—sneaking something from the lunch rations—was his way of showing me that, despite everything, he hadn't forgotten.
Before I could thank him, a voice sliced through the air like a blade.
"What's this, then?"
Mrs. Cranston's shadow loomed over us, blocking out what little light came from the dim laundry room. Her twisted face, scowling with mock horror, was just inches from mine as she snatched the bread from my hand.
"Stealing food, are we? You little rats will be working double-time for this."
Her laugh was a horrible, ugly thing that made my stomach tighten with frustration. I could feel Mat's face go pale next to me. His hands balled into fists, but he stayed quiet. I wanted to say something, to argue back, but I knew the rules. Talking back would only make it worse.
She stood there, arms folded, watching us with a cruel satisfaction. "Now finish those linens, and maybe tomorrow you'll learn to keep your hands to yourself."
I watched her walk away, fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. My stomach growled, but there was no point in dwelling on it. Hunger was just part of life at the Carter Orphanage. Breakfast was a forgotten dream, supper was barely enough to keep us from passing out, and lunch? That depended entirely on whether or not we were lucky enough to work for a kind employer.
The Carters didn't care if we ate, as long as the money kept flowing. The officials who were supposed to protect kids like me were bought off, their eyes turned in the other direction.
Mat and I scrubbed in silence, the smell of the men's bathroom—the sour stench of neglect and sweat—only making my hunger feel worse. But Mat, as always, found a way to make it bearable.
"One day, Alec," he said, voice low but with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "we'll get out of here. And when we do, we're gonna have a bathroom all our own."
I chuckled softly, the thought of freedom—a real bathroom, a real home—sounding like something too good to be true.
"Yeah, Mat," I said quietly. "I'll make sure of it."
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the shift was over. We filed out of the laundry room and onto the bus, the exhaustion of the day seeping into every bone. The familiar weight of it pressed on me, but I found a small relief when we climbed aboard the bus.
We scrambled for seats. I snagged a rare window spot, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. As the bus lurched forward, the weight of the day eased just a little.
Outside, the world looked so different from the orphanage. People rushed along the streets, heading home to families that welcomed them. Mothers with grocery bags, their faces tired but warm. Fathers jogging up to meet their kids, embracing them like they had all the time in the world. The scene stung. It was a life I could only dream of—the warmth, the safety, the belonging.
Mat leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "What do you think it's like?"
"To have someone waiting for you?" I finished for him, but I didn't answer. I couldn't. The ache inside me felt too deep to speak about, a gnawing emptiness I'd been carrying for as long as I could remember.
We watched in silence as the world moved on without us. Then, as the bus crawled through the traffic, I saw him.
A man.
Tall. Striking. His presence commanded the attention of everyone around him, and even among the crowd, it was impossible to look away. He had this aura, like a figure from an old myth, something beyond human. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, muscular, with an air of unspoken power that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
And then, it happened.
I felt him. His eyes, locking with mine from across the street. It wasn't just my imagination—there was something pulling me toward him. A connection I couldn't explain.
Before I could blink, the world shifted.
I wasn't on the bus anymore.
I was standing on a cloud, high above the earth.
I gasped, dropping to my knees, the dizzying height making my stomach churn. The world below was a distant blur, and the sudden panic hit me like a tidal wave. Heights had always been my worst fear.
Then, I heard it. A laugh. Deep and rumbling.
I looked up and froze.
An old man with a white beard, his eyes twinkling with mischief, was lounging on the cloud like it was a plush armchair. He looked exactly like the figure from my childhood vision—the one with the lightning in his eyes.
"Up you go, boy! Can't believe you're afraid of heights!" His voice was thundering, but not unkind. There was a familiarity in his tone that made me feel like I should recognize him.
"Sit up, boy. You're not gonna fall."
My heart pounded, but I forced myself to sit up.
"You… you're the one I saw before," I stammered, staring at him in disbelief.
The man laughed, a booming sound that seemed to shake the clouds beneath us. "I suppose you could say that. Been keeping an eye on you, lad." His eyes flashed, a spark of something ancient, something immense. "And I'll tell you what—you'd make an excellent vessel."
"Vessel?" The word was strange on my tongue. "What does that even mean?"
The man's expression darkened for a moment. "So they got to you first, eh?" He muttered something under his breath—something about "cunning brothers." Then, his eyes snapped back to me, fierce and direct. "Listen, boy. If you choose me, you'll have power. Strength. Wisdom. The kind that'll make you stand above the rest. You want a way out, don't you?"
I swallowed, my thoughts swirling. "Who… who are you?"
Lightning flickered in his eyes as he smirked. "You can call me Zeus, boy."
Before I could process the meaning, the vision shattered.
I blinked, heart racing, and suddenly, I was back on the bus. The world was spinning, my skin still tingling with the energy of what I'd just experienced. Zeus's laughter echoed in my ears.
But before I could even begin to make sense of it, Mat nudged me.
"We're here," he whispered, his face a mix of exhaustion and excitement. "Come on, or they'll leave us out here."
The children filed out, heading toward the orphanage for another grim night. The Carters treated us like assets to be counted, nothing more.
I joined the line, glancing back at the city lights, my mind still racing.
One more day.
Tomorrow, Mat and I would get out. No matter what it took.