Despite curfew approaching quickly, there are just as many people around as before. No one listens to that law anyway. To be honest, there aren't many laws any of us listen to. When everyone breaks them, what's the point?
I don't talk to anyone as I pass. I don't know any of them, and they don't know me, which leaves us all as nothing more than a threat to one another's way of life. Anyone can be an informant, and anyone can be dragged off. Where they go is a mystery to us all, but they never come back, and that's all we need to know.
I turn my thoughts to the bread Mila will make once I'm home. I hope we have some spare raisins in the pantry, or any at all. I love it when she bakes them into the bread.
My mouth begins to water at the thought and I speed up in response. It'll take a while for it to bake, so the sooner I get home, the better. Besides, once I'm behind the safety of our front door, I can't do anything that'll get me into trouble.
I hope.
Chapter Two
I glance longingly at the last of the raisin bread. It's already a couple of days old, and we'll need to eat it today before it goes stale anyway, but that doesn't mean I should gobble it up without thinking. I should wait and...
"Have it,” Mila says, pushing the two slices towards me.
“I…”
"No. Have it," she insists. "You're only going to regret it if you don’t.”
My gaze flits between her and the bread, trying to decide what the best course of action is.
Mila shakes her head in bemusement and wipes her hands on her apron, turning away to get the pot of soup she's made from the stove. Not for the first time, a wave of guilt floods through me at how much she looks after me. I know there are things I do to help her too, but that isn't the point.
"Don't start with me, Raine," she says in the stern voice she learned from Grandmother. "You need it more than I do."
"That's not true," I protest, somehow feeling like I'm a child again. I'm only eighteen months younger than her.
Mila sighs as she peels off her apron. "You're the one who goes to do manual labour. All I do is sit around and sew all day."
"Why do you make it sound as if your job isn't hard work too?" I cock my head to the side and study her.
She doesn't look twenty. She's too tired for it. I don't imagine I look like most eighteen year old's should either. We've been looking after ourselves for too long and it shows.
Mila shrugs. "I enjoy it. And if I work hard enough, I can get some kind of scholarship. If you get the promotion you were talking about, then our whole lives could change."
I snort without meaning to. "I think that ship sailed long ago."
I grab the raisin bread and tear off a hunk anyway. It's already dry, but I still like the taste of it. And there's the added benefit of it filling my stomach. Sometimes, all we have to live off is a handful of berries or something similar, and it's not enough. Even an hour or two after eating, my stomach starts to growl.
A bell starts to toll throughout the city. I wince. I'm not sure what they use to make the sound, but it goes right through me every time. I suppose there are some advantages to that, but only because being late to work is grounds for instant dismissal. The jobs here pay so little that even missing one day's pay can end up causing more problems than anyone would like.
"I have to go," I tell Mila, jumping to my feet.
She grabs my coat, and hands it to me, before turning back to our rack to get her own.
The comforting weight of the heavy material is enough to guard me against the world outside. I'm not sure how anyone in my family even saved enough money for a coat like this, especially as Mila has one that's almost as good. But whoever it was, I'm grateful to them. The coats have served us well, keeping the ash from our clothes, and the cold at bay.
I pat myself down to make sure I have everything I might need for the day. Not that it's much, but I at the very least need to have my ID card with me in case I get stopped by any of the patrols. I blow my sister a kiss and step out of the front door.
Ash drifts through the air, thicker than yesterday, but not as bad as it can be. That's what happens when it rains. The ash and water mix into a thick sludge that's hard to get out of things and difficult to walk through.
A shiver runs through me at the thought. I pull my coat closer to me, though it isn't going to stop the ash that has already made its way inside. It doesn't matter. My clothes and skin are already stained with the stuff. There's no escaping it.
The brisk walk to work passes in a blur, though that's not necessarily a good thing. I have an entire day of back-breaking work ahead of me, with no chances to use the Arts to make it easier. Our foremen spend too much time looking over our shoulders for me to be able to get away with it.
Dull metal gates appear in front of me before I'm ready, but I can't be late. There are bad consequences for anyone who is. I dig around in my pocket for my ID and swipe it across the dock on the gates, clocking in along with dozens of other workers.
We line up neatly as we wait for our assignments. Several trucks sit idling at the other side of the
