Chapter 1 – The Truth
Mr. Daren hated repeating himself.
He tapped the digital board with his stylus, irritation obvious. "If you don't understand probability chains now, you will struggle in university. This isn't middle school."
A few students chuckled.
Lee didn't look up. His notebook was already filled. Not just the answer on the board, but alternative outcomes, side calculations, variations the teacher hadn't mentioned. He did it out of habit, not pride.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He ignored it.
It vibrated again.
Mr. Daren paused mid-sentence. "Lee. If that device is more important than my class, step outside."
Lee stood without arguing and walked into the corridor. The door shut behind him, muting the lecture into a dull hum.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Is this Lee Ardent?"
"Yes."
"This is District Medical Center. Your sister's condition has worsened. You need to come immediately."
The voice was calm. Structured. Almost rehearsed.
"How serious?" he asked.
A brief pause. "You should come now."
The call ended.
Lee stared at the screen for a second longer, then went back inside, picked up his bag, and left. No explanation. No permission.
No one stopped him.
The transit platform was crowded. Advertisements hovered above the lanes—private emergency coverage, premium health memberships, accelerated treatment plans.
Every single one highlighted the same word.
Priority.
He noticed patterns without trying to. Who the ads targeted. Which districts received better packages. Which required "approval."
The ride to the hospital took exactly twelve minutes. He timed it unconsciously.
Twelve minutes felt short.
Too short.
His sister's room was at the end of the corridor.
The door was slightly open. Machines hummed quietly inside.
She looked smaller than he remembered.
Sixteen wasn't supposed to look fragile.
But when she saw him, she smiled like nothing had changed.
"You skipped class again?" she asked softly.
"Strategic withdrawal," he replied.
She rolled her eyes. "That teacher still barking?"
"He enjoys it."
"Then beat him."
"In what?"
"In life."
She said it like it was simple.
He pulled a chair closer and sat beside her. Her fingers were cold when he held them.
"You look tired," she murmured.
"So do you."
"That's not fair. I'm the patient."
He forced a small smile.
Behind her, the monitor's rhythm wasn't steady. He glanced once, memorized the fluctuation, then looked away before she noticed.
A doctor knocked lightly and entered.
"Lee, may I speak with you outside?"
He already knew.
In the hallway, the doctor kept his tone measured. "We need to proceed with the next stage of treatment. Without it, her condition will continue declining."
"How much?" Lee asked.
The number was not impossible.
It was worse than that.
It was reachable for some.
Just not for him.
"We require confirmation before scheduling," the doctor added. "Time is important."
"How much time?"
"Not long."
Lee nodded.
No anger. No pleading.
Just information processed.
He stepped aside and opened his banking app.
Three digits.
He calculated automatically. Savings. Part-time income. Possible advances. Items he could sell. Total projected inflow.
Still nowhere near enough.
He started making calls.
An uncle.
A former employer.
An old contact of his father's.
The responses were polite. Regretful. Helpless.
"That's a lot, Lee."
"I wish I could."
"Let me see what I can do."
Which meant nothing.
Zoe arrived near sunset. She must have rushed; her breathing was uneven.
"You didn't even message me," she said.
"I didn't want you to leave class."
She stared at him. "That's not the point."
"How is she?" she asked.
"Stable," he said. Then added, "For now."
They stood near the vending machines. He had already calculated three different financial paths in his head. None of them worked without external leverage.
"You're thinking too hard," Zoe said quietly.
"I'm thinking correctly."
"You don't have to carry everything alone."
"If I don't, who will?"
She didn't answer.
Because there was no one else.
An hour later, the nurse asked him to come inside again.
His sister looked more tired than before.
"You'll come tomorrow, right?" she asked.
"Of course."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She nodded faintly and closed her eyes.
He stepped out to make one last call.
The sky outside had darkened into deep violet. Upper transit lanes lit up as executive transports moved toward high-rise platforms in the distance.
His phone rang.
Hospital number.
He answered immediately.
"You need to come back inside."
No explanation.
Just that.
The walk down the corridor felt longer this time.
The door to her room was partially closed.
The machines were silent.
The doctor stood near the bed.
"We did what we could."
Lee didn't react at first.
He walked forward slowly and touched her hand.
Still warm.
But no pressure in return.
Something tightened in his chest.
One tear slipped down before he could stop it. He wiped it away almost immediately, jaw set hard.
The doctor spoke about cardiac arrest.
About rapid decline.
About timing.
Lee heard something else.
Delay.
Confirmation.
Probability reduced.
He understood the equation clearly.
Insufficient funds.
Insufficient time.
He left the hospital without remembering the paperwork.
The night air felt colder than before.
He walked until he reached the small park near his district block. The swings creaked in the wind. A streetlight flickered overhead.
From the bench, he could see the upper skyline.
One luxury transport descended smoothly onto a private tower platform. No waiting. No paperwork. No "confirmation required."
He watched carefully.
There were no public ambulances in that zone.
No delays.
He noticed something else.
A cargo shuttle docked two buildings away, briefly unsupervised before automated locks engaged. The security drone patrol lagged by exactly thirty seconds between rotations.
Thirty seconds.
Enough time for someone who knew the timing.
He didn't know why he noticed it.
He just did.
The world wasn't unfair.
It was structured.
If you could pay, you skipped the line.
If you couldn't, you waited.
And waiting killed people.
He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped.
All his life he had believed in the straight path.
Study.
Graduate.
Find a stable job.
Climb slowly.
Slow didn't save anyone.
He looked at the skyline again. At the cargo shuttle. At the delay between patrol rotations.
The system had rules.
Rules meant patterns.
Patterns meant weaknesses.
For the first time that night, his grief shifted.
It didn't disappear.
It hardened.
If money decided who lived—
Then he wouldn't beg for it.
He would take control of how it moved.
His phone screen lit up again in his hand.
Three digits.
Not enough.
Not yet.
Lee closed the banking app.
And started thinking differently.
End of Chapter 1.