He grunted, tugging at the laces, looping the thin fabric around itself with growing frustration. As he stood up, the knot unraveled and fell apart again.
"AGH, THIS IS SO DUMB! I TOLD THEM TO GET VELCRO!"
"That's no way to talk," Lyra said, glancing around. Her gaze flickered to the red blinking cameras above the streetlights. "Mind your tongue, buddy. Someone could hear you."
"Whatever," he mumbled. "We're almost home anyway. Why do I even have to keep them tied?"
"It's just good habit, Ryan." She crouched down in front of him. "Here, let me do it."
She tied his shoes quickly, fingers moving with practiced ease. She told herself it was just to speed things along—but maybe it was something else. A need to stall. Just for a moment. The walk home had felt too quiet. The air too sharp. Something was… off. But she pushed the thought down. Tied the bow a little tighter.
When she finished, she gave his head a little pat, as usual.
"We're literally right in front of the house," he said with a roll of his eyes. "That was a waste of time!"
"No, it wasn't."
"Yes it was."
"Shhh," she hushed. "They're probably gonna be mad we stayed out so late."
"Okay."
She pulled the key from her pocket and carefully unlocked the front door. The metal clicked, loud in the quiet night.
"Mom! Dad! We're—"
Her voice cracked into a shriek.
"What happened, Ly?" he asked, squeezing through beside her.
Then he saw it too.
And everything went still.
The entire house was trashed. Furniture overturned, walls scorched. The floor was littered with shattered glass, torn papers, and the twisted frame of their father's reading glasses, one lens cracked like a spiderweb. In the middle of the living room, the basement bookshelf—the one they'd risked everything to protect—was aflame. Generations of secret knowledge—gone. Above it, a sign was carved into the wall.
Public Service.
Everyone knows what that means. You don't come back from that. In spite of all the mess, the smell of warm food lingered over the half-eaten meal on the dining table. The blue curtains that their mom loved bathed in the sunset's crimson rays. Their parents' shoes were still placed in front of the door. Neat. Waiting. But there was no trace of the wearers. None of the family portraits or any of the kids belongings remained, maybe a precaution. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
There was nothing left to matter.
A thought flashed through her mind. The words her mother had drilled into her since she was small.
"If anything bad happens, check behind the fridge drawers."
She would stroke her hair while speaking as if it was no big deal.
Lyra covered her face to regain her composure, and sprinted straight to the kitchen. Tearing apart the fridge where the food had all been dumped out, sure enough, she found a small note taped to the back of the drawers. She could feel her brother's presence looming behind her back. He must've followed her quietly. But it had to be done. She swallowed back the persistent clump of fear despite its bitter metallic taste, and unfolded the note.
"Ryan. Pack. Now."
She threw herself off the floor and bolted toward the hallway, pulling out two backpacks. Shoving one into her brother's hands, she caught sight of his red-stained eyes, his cheeks still damp.
A pang of guilt knotted in her stomach. She almost told him to sit down, to breathe, to cry if he needed to—but there was no time.
She bit her lip hard and turned away, stuffing cans, water bottles, anything useful into her bag with shaking hands.
When she looked back, he was still standing there.
"You packed everything?"
"…Yeah."
"All your underwear? I don't know how long we'll be out."
He grimaced. "Ew. Don't say that."
A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. It almost made her forget the burning smell still clinging to her skin. She packed the last of her clothes, zipped her bag shut, and slung it over her shoulder.
"Come on."
She grabbed his hand, fingers locking tight around his, and stepped out of the only home they'd ever known.
Trailing far off the road where no eyes pried was almost second nature to Lyra. Her mother had made her bore this path into her head from a young age, but Ryan didn't get that version of their parents. He didn't know of the horror stories stuck in her mind like the cement on the pavement. Maybe their parents felt like they could relax, that perhaps nobody could find them. But it did. And now she had to dig up her childhood military training, and somehow teach him. She glanced back at the little boy tramping behind her, his face was clouded with a sorrow blankness that left her wondering what he was thinking of. None of them had spoken since they'd left the house, which wasn't visible anymore as only the moonlight shone over the night sky.
"Lyra…?"
Her eyes widened slightly but she kept walking.
"Yeah?"
She knew that she'd have to have some difficult conversations now. She wasn't sure how to respond. Her mother's boot camps only taught her how to respond to government officials or police officers, not the one person who looked up to her. She could never break him like that. She couldn't tell him what she knew.
"…where are we going?"
She didn't know what to say. She knew the way there, and she knew it was probably another place for them to live, but she didn't know where exactly they were going. The note had said in a secret old language that on the usual path they'd take, she'd have to keep going until she saw a broken piano, then turn left until the red sign… then two rights after she saw pink on a tree. She had read over the note maybe a dozen times, she had it memorised. But she didn't exactly know to where it lead. Could it be a fake note? She shook the thought away and sighed.
"We're going to a safe place, don't worry. We'll be fine for at least a week on our supplies. There should be more where we're going. Don't worry, okay?" Her voice trembled on the last don't worry, she was more so reassuring herself than her brother. But she didn't want him to be scared.
He can't see me fall apart. Not now.
I'm all he has.
I have to be enough.
I have to.
"Okay, thanks sis…" His little voice sounded out, and she felt the knot in her throat loosen in relief.
Upon reaching the broken piano she began to wonder what would be of them now. She did what she had to, but the next step was unknown even for her. Whatever happens, they might survive. No one could say the same about their parents. Whoever gets taken by the Public Servicemen, or "the cleansers", would never be seen again. She used to be scared before, that something would happen to them. She'd always be on guard. But she'd relaxed the past year. Everything seemed great. Ryan had even begun learning English, an old language we'd use as code. There were many old documents in English, but it was considered dangerous. Well, there was no direct word for "dangerous" in Palcish, there weren't many words at all. It was clean. Safe.
Turning left, her feet began tingling. They had been walking for a while and she wondered how far the place really was. The rare scent of trees was carried gently by the night breeze and she was glad they had brought their coats. This place was supposed to be restricted as the PS Committee had no eyes around. Although not many people know about these restricted areas, everyone in her family knew them well. The moonlight reflected on a red stop sign and she knew they were getting closer, forgetting the slight aching of her feet and the fresh air suddenly felt heavier. Glancing at her brother, it seemed like he was taking it much better than she was.
The red sign loomed ahead, bent and rusted like an old warning no one had bothered to heed. Its faded letters whispered of limits and dangers, but to Lyra, it marked the fragile edge of what was left of their world.
She reached out and tugged Ryan gently by the arm. "Here," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath in the thick night air.
Her boots crunched over the broken gravel as they slipped off the main path, stepping down a narrow dirt trail flanked by overgrown fences. Shadows clung to the tangled weeds like ghosts, and every rustle of leaves or distant animal cry sharpened her senses.
Ryan's footsteps followed quietly, steady but silent.
"Ryan?" she glanced back, her heart tightening at how small he looked against the oppressive darkness.
He gave a faint nod, eyes downcast, his face drained of the usual spark. His silence weighed heavily between them, as if he were shrinking away, trying to disappear into the night.
Ahead, the path opened to a small clearing barely touched by moonlight. There, half-buried beneath moss and brittle leaves, was a rusted metal hatch — their secret refuge.
Lyra knelt beside it, brushing away years of dust and dirt until the cold iron handle was exposed. Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around it, the quiet creak of the hatch breaking the stillness like a whisper of hope.
"Help me," she said softly.
Ryan crouched beside her, his small hands gripping the metal with surprising strength. Together, they pulled, the hatch groaning as it reluctantly revealed the dark tunnel beneath.
The air inside smelled stale and cold, thick with dust and secrets. The narrow passage was just wide enough for one, its concrete walls cold and unwelcoming.
Lyra swallowed the knot in her throat and took the first step down the ladder.
"I'll go first," she said, voice steady despite the fear tightening her chest.
Ryan's eyes, wide and trusting, followed her every move. "I'll be right behind you," he whispered.
The soft glow of the Tuesday morning spilled through cracked curtains not many weeks ago, bathing the room in a gentle light. Lyra sat cross-legged on the floor, an old, worn book spread before her. Ryan perched on a stool beside her, eyes wide with wonder as she traced faded letters with her fingertip.
"Repeat after me," Lyra encouraged, her voice steady but warm.
"'Knowledge is power,'" Ryan echoed, his accent thick but earnest.
Their mother stood in the doorway, folding laundry with a soft smile. "Good, Ryan. These words will keep you strong."
Lyra's father stepped quietly inside, clutching a bundle of ancient papers. "Today's lesson is important," he said. "We don't just learn words. We learn secrets—secrets the world wants to erase. You must protect them."
Ryan looked up, confused but trusting. Lyra squeezed his hand, a silent promise between them. Years of hidden lessons, whispered stories, and forbidden knowledge had prepared them for this moment.
Their mother's voice dropped to a whisper, "If the Public Servicemen come, remember where the cache is hidden. Always."
Lyra's fingers brushed a small scar on her palm — a mark from a desperate escape long ago. Ryan's small hand found hers, steady and grounding.
That day had felt like a game, a secret mission woven into their lives. But now, the games were over.
Back in the clearing, Lyra's breath came out in steady puffs, the chill of the night seeping through her clothes. She descended the ladder into darkness, her boots echoing softly against cold stone.
Ryan followed close behind, the weight of everything lost pressing on her heart. But beneath the fear was a fragile spark—a flicker of hope they both clung to.
They were alive.
And for now, that was enough.
They sat in the dim tunnel for a long while, backs pressed to the cold wall, saying nothing.
Eventually, Lyra lit the emergency lantern, its soft glow filling the small chamber with a weak halo of orange. It wasn't much, but it kept the darkness from swallowing them whole.
They spread out their blanket, and Lyra forced down a few bites of crackers while Ryan curled into her side, barely touching his own food. She knew they had to ration now. The food had to last as long as possible. Ryan's breathing slowed, uneven but steady.
When he finally fell asleep, Lyra stayed awake, eyes fixed on the hatch above. Her thoughts wouldn't quiet. Every creak, every gust of wind outside made her muscles tense.
She didn't sleep much.
By morning, a dull ache had settled into her spine. The lantern had flickered out hours ago, and pale light leaked through the cracks in the hatch.
She stretched stiffly and checked the corner where they'd stashed their bag.
Then she froze.
Her breath caught. Cold dread washed over her chest before her thoughts even formed.
One of the smaller pouches — the one with two water canisters and some dried fruit — was gone.
Her pulse surged.
She checked again, more frantic this time. Nothing. Just the empty straps where the pouch had been clipped.
She scanned the tunnel. Nothing looked disturbed. Ryan was still asleep.
She swallowed hard, pushing down the rising panic.
Someone had been here.
And they hadn't even heard them.
She backed away from the supplies, her mind racing.
It didn't make sense. The hatch had been shut. They'd barely made a sound. Who else could've known about this place?
A cold thought crept in.
Was someone already down here?
She scanned the shadows again, heart pounding.
Her jaw tightened. From now on, she'd have to be sharper. Smarter. Even if it meant giving up what little sleep she had.
No one could be trusted.
Not out here.