The boy knew something was wrong when the street went quiet.
Cohast was never quiet. Even in the poorest parts of the city, there was always noise. People argued. Machines hummed. Someone always shouted or ran. Silence meant something had gone wrong.
He stood near the edge of a narrow street, his back pressed against a stone wall that had long cracks running through it. He was thin for his age, all sharp angles and narrow shoulders. His clothes were worn and too large, hanging loose on his frame. His hair was blonde but dirty and overgrown, falling into his face and covering most of his blue eyes. There were dark smudges on his pale skin, especially along his arms and cheeks, marks that never fully came off no matter how much rain fell.
A loaf of bread was tucked under his arm.
He had just stolen it.
The air felt heavy, like it was harder to breathe. He shifted his weight and glanced up the street, then toward the sky.
The clouds were moving fast. Too fast. They were low and dark, and the light above the city looked wrong. There was a low sound that did not come from anywhere he could see. It was steady and deep, and it made his chest feel tight.
He tightened his grip on the bread.
The ground shook.
The sound that followed was loud enough to hurt his ears. Windows shattered along the street. People screamed. The quiet broke all at once.
He did not stop to look.
The boy ran.
He pushed off the wall and sprinted down the street, his boots hitting the stone hard. The ground shook again, throwing him forward. He caught himself and kept going. His breath came fast and sharp.
Light flashed overhead. He looked up for half a second and saw fire falling from the sky. A building ahead collapsed in on itself. The heat rushed over him and burned his face. He turned sharply and ran into a narrow alley just as pieces of stone and metal crashed down behind him.
Dust filled the air. It burned his throat and eyes. He coughed but did not slow down.
People shouted somewhere nearby. A scream cut off suddenly.
He ran out of the alley into a wider street and almost slammed into a wall of bodies. People pushed past each other, running in all directions. Someone fell near his feet and disappeared under the crowd. A transport vehicle crashed into a building and exploded, sending fire across the road.
The boy froze for a moment.
Then another blast shook the ground, and he moved again.
He slipped between people where he could, ducking under arms and twisting his body sideways. Hands grabbed at him. Someone pulled at his sleeve. He tore free and ran harder.
The smell of smoke was everywhere. His lungs burned. His legs hurt, but he kept moving.
Another explosion hit close by. He fell forward and hit the ground. Pain shot through his shoulder. His hand scraped against the stone, and the bread rolled away.
Boots thundered past him. Someone stepped on his fingers.
He cried out and pulled his hand back, curling his fingers against his chest. His vision blurred. Fear rushed up fast and strong, making his heart pound so hard it hurt.
The noise around him became too much. His head felt tight. There was a sharp pressure behind his eyes, and his skin prickled. For a moment, it felt like the world was closing in on him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped.
Then it stopped.
The pressure faded. The noise came back all at once. His breathing slowed just enough for him to move.
He pushed himself up and ran again, leaving the bread behind.
He did not look back.
The street ahead opened into a large space. A spaceport terminal stood there, its outer wall cracked and broken. Smoke poured from the damage. Ships hovered above the landing pads, engines loud and steady. People rushed toward them, shouting and crying.
Armed figures stood between the crowd and the ships, yelling orders.
"Stay back!"
"There's no more room!"
A weapon fired into the air. The sound echoed.
The boy's eyes locked onto the ships.
If he stayed in the city, he would die.
He pushed forward.
The crowd pressed in around him. Someone tried to grab him. He ducked low and slipped through a gap between two adults shouting at each other. His shoulder hit something hard, but he kept going.
A ramp lowered from one of the ships.
The noise grew louder as he got closer. His chest hurt with every breath. His legs felt weak, but he did not slow down.
A soldier stepped into his path and raised an arm.
"Get back!"
The boy dropped to the ground and slid under the arm, scraping his knees. He came up on the other side and ran.
The ramp began to rise.
He ran faster.
Something struck the ground nearby and threw him sideways. He hit the stone hard, the air knocked out of his lungs. For a moment, he could not breathe.
Fear surged again. The pressure returned, sharper this time. The sounds around him faded, leaving only the hum of the ship's engines, loud in his head.
The ramp shuddered.
He gasped and forced himself to move.
He ran.
He jumped as the ramp lifted higher. His fingers slammed into cold metal. He slipped, then caught the edge. His arms burned as he hung there, feet kicking uselessly.
Someone shouted above him.
Hands grabbed his wrists and pulled him up with sudden strength. He rolled forward as the ramp closed behind him with a heavy sound.
Darkness surrounded him.
The ship lifted off.
Below, the city burned.