Keith woke to the sound of metal scraping stone.
The noise came from somewhere above him, rhythmic and careless, like someone testing the ground with the sole of their boot. His body protested the moment he tried to shift, muscles stiff and uncooperative, the soreness from the previous day settling deep rather than fading. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes half-open, letting the dim light filter through the gaps in the broken structure overhead.
The sensation from the night before hadn't vanished.
It lingered like a pressure behind his eyes, faint but persistent, refusing to be dismissed as imagination. He exhaled slowly, pushing himself upright, and the feeling receded just enough to let him focus on the day ahead.
It was already starting.
Keith took his place in the line without looking around.
He recognized Vale immediately anyway.
The boy stood a few spots ahead this time, posture relaxed in a way that didn't match the environment. Keith remembered him from before—the quiet advice, the way he'd spoken like someone who knew how this place worked a little too well. Useful information, offered without reason.
That alone made it dangerous.
Keith kept his gaze forward, adjusting his stance just enough to avoid standing directly behind him. In this yard, attention—positive or negative—had a way of sticking. He wasn't interested in being associated with anyone yet, especially not someone who volunteered guidance.
Vale shifted, half-turning as if to check something behind him.
Keith didn't meet his eyes.
The line crept forward. Somewhere to the side, a worker coughed hard enough to double over before straightening again. No one reacted. The clerks continued their work with mechanical indifference.
Vale leaned back slightly, voice low and casual, as if commenting on nothing in particular.
"Same section as yesterday," he said. "That's not luck."
Keith said nothing.
Silence stretched between them, thin and deliberate. Vale didn't press. He straightened and faced forward again, hands loose at his sides.
Keith relaxed a fraction, though the tension didn't leave his shoulders. Whatever Vale's motives were—kindness, habit, or something else—Keith wasn't ready to trust them. Information in this realm was a currency of its own, and people rarely spent it without expecting something in return.
When the clerks reached them, the exchange was quick. Assignment marked. Token scanned. No eye contact.
They were sent in the same direction.
Keith slowed his pace the moment they cleared the pylons, letting a small gap form between them. He focused on his breathing, on the weight of the work ahead, on anything except the presence just in front of him.
The yard swallowed them both.
The work dragged on in the same dull rhythm, but something about it felt different this time.
Not harder. Not faster.
Tighter.
Keith noticed it in the small things first. The way the overseers stood closer to the lines. The way instructions were repeated twice, then enforced once. Breaks ended without warning. Water rations were redistributed halfway through the shift, measured again, then reduced without explanation.
No one complained.
They just worked.
Keith kept his movements efficient, careful not to draw attention. He stayed aware of Vale's position without looking directly at him, tracking the boy's presence through sound and spacing alone. Vale worked cleanly, no wasted motion, no obvious strain—but that didn't mean safety. In places like this, competence could be as dangerous as weakness.
By mid-shift, someone collapsed two rows over.
The sound was soft, almost disappointing. A body hitting packed stone without force. The overseer didn't even turn his head right away. When he did, it was only to gesture for the line to close the gap.
Keith didn't stop working.
Neither did Vale.
Later, when payment was finally distributed, the clerk's hands moved faster than before. Three dull-grade Synr strips were pressed into Keith's palm. He didn't bother counting them until he'd stepped away. The markings were shallow, almost smoothed flat. Barely worth holding onto.
The yard emptied unevenly. Some workers left in clusters, others alone. Keith waited a few seconds before moving, then slipped out at an angle that put distance between himself and Vale without making it obvious.
The streets outside felt narrower than they had that morning.
People moved with their heads down, conversations clipped short. A notice board near the junction had been scraped clean, fresh rules etched in sharp, unfamiliar lines. Keith didn't stop to read them. He'd learned quickly that rules in this realm weren't meant to be understood—only obeyed.
He spent one Synr on food. Thinner than yesterday. He ate it slowly, standing, back to a wall.
As he moved deeper into the district, the pressure returned.
Not physical. Not exactly.
It was the same faint awareness he'd felt the night before—like standing too close to a static field. Subtle enough that he might have ignored it, if it hadn't sharpened all at once as someone passed him going the opposite direction.
Keith didn't turn.
He didn't need to.
The sensation was brief, fleeting—but unmistakable. Aligned. Familiar in a way nothing in this realm should have been. His steps faltered for half a second before he corrected himself, heart rate ticking up despite his control.
Keith didn't turn.
He didn't need to.
The sensation was brief, fleeting—but unmistakable. Aligned. Familiar in a way nothing in this realm should have been. His steps faltered for half a second before he corrected himself, heart rate ticking up despite his control.
The other presence didn't stop either.
They passed each other like strangers, shoulders missing by inches, both pretending the moment hadn't existed.
Only after several steps did the pressure fade.
Keith exhaled slowly, fingers curling at his side.
Somewhere behind him, the lamps flickered.
And for the first time since arriving in this realm, he was certain of one thing:
He wasn't the only one like this here.
Not anymore.