The rhythmic clanking of machinery was like music to her ears. Metal parts clicked into place, steam hissed from the pipes, and conveyor belts whirred with life. The factory smelled of oil and sweat, but to Anne, it was the scent of another day well spent.
She wiped her brow, smudging grease across her cheek, but the smile never left her lips. Today had been a good day. She had finished assembling her section faster than anyone else, and the foreman—gruff, impatient old Jarek—had clapped her on the back.
"Fast hands, steady work! You're putting the rest of these slowpokes to shame!" he had barked, his laughter echoing through the factory floor.
The others had cheered, some in genuine camaraderie, some in playful annoyance, but Anne took it all in stride. Even the laziest workers found themselves grinning when Jarek was in a good mood.
"Don't let it get to your head!" one of the older women called. "Next thing you know, you'll be running this place!"
"Wouldn't that be something?" Anne laughed, shaking out her sore hands. "First thing I'd do is double the lunch breaks!"
The chorus of agreement that followed was almost enough to make her believe it.
When the final whistle blew, she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the cool evening air. The sun was beginning to set, casting long golden streaks across the cracked pavement. The streets were alive with noise—vendors shouting, children weaving between the crowds, the distant hum of a radio playing from a window above.
And then, just as she turned onto the main road, she saw it—an utterly absurd sight.
A man in a suit, crisp and well-fitted, was standing stiff as a board in the middle of the sidewalk. In front of him, a goose stood just as still, staring him down like an executioner preparing to swing the axe. A small crowd had gathered, whispering in amusement as the standoff continued.
Anne stopped, tilting her head.
"What's going on?" she asked a woman next to her, who was barely holding back laughter.
"The goose won't let him pass!" the woman whispered. "Every time he tries, it flaps at him and honks!"
Anne watched as the man in the suit cautiously stepped to the left. The goose mirrored him. He moved right. The goose followed.
"Just go around!" someone called.
The man, clearly trying to maintain his dignity, attempted a bold step forward. The goose immediately puffed up and let out a deep, guttural honk, making him stumble back.
Anne couldn't help it—she burst into laughter. It was the kind of ridiculous moment that only the city streets could provide. Eventually, an old man with a baguette distracted the goose long enough for the poor suited man to escape, but he didn't seem embarrassed, rather happy as he hurried down the street.
Still chuckling, Anne turned the corner and made her way to the bakery. The warm scent of fresh bread greeted her before she even stepped inside.
"Ah! My favorite customer!" the baker, old Gregor, called as she walked in. He was built like a barrel, his apron dusted with flour, his thick mustache twitching as he grinned.
"You say that to everyone," Anne teased, leaning on the counter.
"Only to the ones who bring joy into my shop," Gregor said, winking. He reached behind the counter and pulled out a loaf wrapped in brown paper. "This one's still warm. I saved it for you."
Anne's smile softened. "I don't have enough today, Gregor. Tomorrow, I promise."
"Nonsense," Gregor waved a flour-covered hand. "You work hard, and hard work deserves good bread. Take it, and you'll pay me back whenever you can."
Ane hesitated for only a moment before taking the loaf, the warmth of it seeping into her fingers.
"Thank you," she said, meaning it.
"Now go on," Gregor said, shooing her toward the door. "And if you see that devil goose out there, tell it to keep away from my shop!"
She laughed as she stepped back onto the street, the absurdity of the day still lingering in her mind. A good day, she thought. A good, silly, day.
The streets were still alive as she walked home, but in a softer way now, the chaos of the day settling into a hum of evening life. The scent of roasting meat and frying onions drifted from the food stalls, mingling with the crisp bite of autumn air. Streetlights flickered to life, casting long golden pools across the cracked pavement.
She held the warm loaf close to her chest as she weaved through the crowds, past beggars curled beneath ragged blankets, past lovers leaning into each other's whispers, past men haggling over crates of stolen goods. The city was ruthless, but it had its own rhythm—one she had long since learned to move with.
Her building was a leaning thing, bricks crumbling, paint peeling. The kind of place where voices carried through the thin walls and the stairs creaked under every step. She climbed them two at a time, careful not to wake the drunk who slept in the hallway, and unlocked the door.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of home—boiling water, old wood, something faintly sweet. The space was small, barely more than two rooms, but it was enough.
Two little faces turned to her the second she stepped in.
"Anne!"
Tomas, just six, ran at her full force, nearly knocking the bread from her hands as he hugged her waist. Elric, nine, was more reserved, sitting cross-legged on the old rug, but his eyes lit up all the same.
"You're late," Elric said, pretending to scold her. "And you've got dirt on your face."
She chuckled, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "That's what happens when you work hard. But I brought bread."
Tomas gasped dramatically. "From Gregor?"
"From Gregor," she confirmed, holding it up like a trophy.
"Alright, we will eat when I have set the plates. Until then you two can have that" She clapped her hands and got to work.
***
Anne had barely set the food on the table when she heard the unmistakable sound of something crashing to the floor. She turned, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, her eyes narrowing at the two guilty figures standing in the middle of the room.
Tomas held a wooden spoon like a sword, his other hand pointing dramatically at Elric. "You shall pay for your crimes, foul villain!"
Elric, perched on a chair, had wrapped himself in a tattered old blanket like a king's robe. He leaned on the broomstick he was clearly using as a royal staff and sniffed disdainfully. "Peasant. You dare challenge the great King Elric the Unbothered?"
She sighed. "Oh no."
Tomas, undeterred, swiped the spoon through the air. "You stole my bread, you tyrant! I demand a duel!"
Anne's eyes darted to the table. Sure enough, a chunk of bread was missing.
Elric smirked, breaking off another piece and popping it into his mouth. "What bread?" he said through a full mouth.
Tomas let out a war cry and launched himself at Elric, who yelped and swung the broomstick. The chair toppled backward, nearly taking him with it.
"Hey! Hey! What did I say about sword fights before dinner?" She snapped, stepping in before furniture—and possibly children—started flying.
"But he stole my bread!" Tomas protested, holding his spoon aloft like a knight demanding justice.
Elric, still chewing, shrugged. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law."
Anne pinched the bridge of her nose. "Where did you even hear that?"
"Markov," he answered, wiping crumbs from his chin.
"Of course it was Markov." She threw her hands up. "Alright, you little delinquents, enough. Sit down and eat properly before—"
Tomas lunged again. Elric dodged. The broomstick swung. The spoon deflected it with a dramatic clack!
Anne groaned. "Fine. You want a duel? Then fight someone your own size."
Before either of them could react, she grabbed a pan, flipped it around like a shield, and lunged. Tomas shrieked in glee as she batted his spoon aside, forcing him backward. Elric tried to scramble away, but Anne whirled on him, tapping his forehead with the pan.
"Behold! The great King Elric has been defeated!" she announced.
Tomas cheered and tackled Elric in triumph. Elric, laughing, pretended to faint dramatically.
Anne shook her head, finally letting out a chuckle. "Alright, alright, that's enough. I'm declaring a truce before you two destroy the house."
Elric wiped fake sweat from his brow. "A worthy opponent."
She smirked, setting the pan aside. "Next time, I'm bringing out the ladle. And no one will be safe."
They scrambled to the table as she set it down, tearing off pieces, their small hands eager, Tomas stuffed a huge bite of bread into his mouth, victorious. She ruffled Tomas's hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before moving to start the kettle.
"You'll choke if you eat that fast," she teased, but there was no real warning in her voice. Just love, boundless and warm.
She didn't have much, but she had them. And she would give them everything she could.
After dinner, she scrubbed Tomas's face clean, laughing as he whined about the cold water, then tucked them both into the worn blankets that made up their shared bed. Tomas was asleep within minutes, his tiny fingers still curled around a piece of bread. Elric watched her in the dim candlelight.
"You work too much," he murmured.
She smiled, brushing his hair back. "That's what big sisters do."
His eyes were heavy with sleep, but his lips twitched in a tiny smile. "Then you're the best one."
Her heart ached, but in the sweetest way.
She stayed with them until their breathing evened out, then rose to her feet. The candle flickered, casting soft shadows across the room.
A knock at the door startled her.
She moved quietly, opening it just enough to see. It was Markov, their neighbor from down the hall. He was a wiry man with sharp eyes and fingers that always twitched like they were itching to do something. He wasn't cruel, but he wasn't soft either.
"Anne," he said, voice low. "I've got something for you."
She frowned. "I told you, I can't take—"
"It's not charity," he interrupted. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a folded stack of bills, pressed them into her palm before she could argue. "Call it payment in advance."
Her breath hitched. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them warm, enough for food for the week. "Markov, I—"
"Tomorrow morning," he said, his voice almost gentle. "Meet me by the old bridge."
A favour, then.
She swallowed hard but nodded. This wasn't the first time they were doing a gig. Working at the factory wasn't enough, not even close to what her brothers needed for a great life.
Markov grinned, stepping back into the shadows of the hallway. "Sleep well, kid."
The door clicked shut.
She stood in the dim light, staring at the money in her hand. She didn't know what he would ask of her. But she knew one thing for certain.
She would do it.
***
The city was still waking as Anne made her way to the old bridge. The sky was the colour of bruises, deep purple and grey, and the air carried the damp chill of last night's rain. Her boots scuffed against the cobblestones, each step careful, cautious.
Markov was already there, leaning against the rusted railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Wisps of smoke curled around his sharp features, half-hidden in the morning fog.
"You came," he said without turning, flicking the cigarette away.
"You gave me money," She replied flatly. "Now tell me what you want."
Markov finally looked at her, lips quirking in that amused way of his. "Straight to business. I like that."
Anne crossed her arms. She didn't have time for games.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, wrapped parcel—about the size of a loaf of bread, but far heavier when he placed it in her hands. The fabric around it was stiff, worn, stained at the edges.
"Take this to the tailor's shop on Hollow Street," he said. "Give it to the woman at the counter. Tell her Markov sends his regards."
She frowned, gripping the bundle. "That's it?"
Markov exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a laugh. "That's it."
She looked down at the package. It wasn't a normal delivery—she knew that much. But it wasn't bloodstained, wasn't ticking, wasn't squirming, so she figured she could handle whatever trouble it might bring.
"You trust me with this?" she asked, testing him.
Markov leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "I trust you to know when to keep your mouth shut."
She met his gaze, unflinching.
Then she tucked the package under her coat, turned, and walked away.
"Take this as well," he said from behind her. She turned to find a finely wrapped gift hurling in her direction. Out of reflex, she had caught it and felt the light and cold texture slipping inside.
A knife.
"Thought you might need it." Markov smiled. If she hadn't questioned this before, she did now.