The sky was gray, the kind of gray that seeped into your bones, not from cold but from emptiness. No birds. No sun. Just an endless stretch of dull clouds hanging like a ceiling too low to breathe under.
Ember stood in the crowd, her face blank like the rest of them, her heartbeat the only thing that betrayed her. Keep it steady, she reminded herself. Emotions were dangerous here—illegal. One flicker of fear, one twitch of grief, and the Enforcers would spot you. And if they did, you disappeared.
She'd seen it happen before. She was about to see it happen again.
The square was silent except for the mechanical hum of the massive screen that flickered to life above the platform. On it, the symbol of the Regime: a black triangle wrapped in a circle, sharp and unyielding, like everything they stood for. Beneath the screen, a man knelt, his hands bound, head bowed. He was ordinary—too ordinary to be here. But his crime wasn't written on his face. It was in his heart.
Suspected of emotional deviance. That's what the announcement had said. That's all it ever said.
The Enforcer beside him didn't wear a mask. They never did. Masks were for the guilty, for people who had something to hide. The Regime had nothing to hide. Their faces were stone, their eyes hollow. That's how you knew they were safe—empty inside.
But Ember wasn't empty. Not even close.
Her fingers dug into the sleeves of her coat, nails biting into skin, the sharp sting grounding her. She wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but stand there like the rest of them—silent, compliant, dead inside.
The Enforcer's voice rang out, flat and emotionless. "Emotion is the root of chaos. To feel is to betray order. Let this be a lesson."
A lesson. That's what they called murder these days.
The sound of the gunshot was louder than it needed to be, designed to echo off the concrete walls, to drill into their skulls. The man's body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, a dark stain blooming beneath him.
No one flinched. No one cried. No one even blinked.
Except Ember.
Just a twitch—a microscopic tremor in the corner of her eye. But it was enough.
An Enforcer in the crowd turned, his gaze slicing through the sea of faces, sharp and calculating. His eyes met hers, and for a heartbeat too long, Ember felt something electric pass between them—not recognition, not suspicion. Something worse.
Awareness.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Look away. Breathe. Be nothing.
But it was too late. He was already moving toward her.
And that's when Ember knew: her time was up.