Myles, considerably hungry, spots a stall a few yards away from the Central Rhakotis Station, where a beaver-woman vendor is folding and laying out some fabrics and clearly second-hand clothes. As he approaches, his eyes catch a brown leather coat with a cherry-red rectangular stamp bearing four hollow stars — one larger and above, the other three smaller and below. A golden label, repeated on the sleeve and hem, reads: G.E.I.T. (Imperial Elite Guard of T?ten).

  “How much for the coat, ma’am?” Myles asks, noting four baby beavers inside what looks like a small hut, surrounded by what appear to be dried eggshells.

  “What can you offer?” she asks with a look of disdain and a thick accent, stepping subtly between Myles and her precious cubs, eyes fixed warily on his uniform in a posture of guarded alertness.

  “Let’s see… What can I get for this?” Myles replies, pulling a silver credit chip from the small pouch Jenson had given him.

  “The coat, certainly,” the woman replies, now visibly interested, her eyes widening slightly as if she were about to drool.

  “Yes, I figured that much. But what more can I get for it?” he presses.

  “How about the coat and these thermal pants?” the experienced vendor suggests.

  “No, no... Pants aren’t on my list. I actually thought of those rawhide gloves and a pair of boots. Deal? Fair enough, ma’am?” Myles shoots back, smooth and bold. “Tell you what — I’ll give you two of my coins if I can also take those two pairs of glasses, the tees, and that bag,” he ventures.

  “Well... Fine, deal. I’ll get them for you. If you want, I’ve got a place for you to change,” she says, motioning with just a nod of her neck toward what once must have been a folding screen.

  Meanwhile, Alek is trying to figure out a way to bypass the surveillance drones around the station. He pulls and straightens two loose ends of his head bandages that hang from the back of his head as he contemplates strategies.

  Myles finishes changing, pays, and steps away. He sees a man near the station entrance offering a small packet of something he calls Baalbeck, a type of stuffed bread filled with a jelly made from a genetically modified fruit, a cross between mango and kiwi. Myles, who loves those "luxuries of life," offers a train ticket in exchange for a few of them. The man — who speaks a language Myles doesn’t understand — accepts through a series of gestures and strange sounds that attract the attention of nearby pedestrians.

  The sweet scent of the Baalbeck stirs an unexpected memory — a sunny afternoon sitting on a fire escape near the top of a residential building in the suburbs of Rhakotis, cycles ago, when he still believed the streets could be a home. But the memory fades as fast as it came.

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  Myles secures their tickets and repays the debt. When Alek joins him, Myles hands him a shirt and glasses so they can disguise themselves — a bid to fool the biometric-recognition drones.

  “Simple but effective,” Myles says with a grin as Alek puts on the disguise.

  “Indeed. I should’ve thought of it myself,” Alek replies, a touch of pride in his voice, almost unwilling to admit Myles had solved both their problems.

  “You look like a dragonfly after a doctor’s visit with those glasses!” Myles chuckles, unable to resist.

  Alek tries to stay composed, but eventually lets out a quiet laugh.

  They board the hovering train bound for Rhakotis’ Northern Zone. The dark purple graffiti on the cars mark the passage through T?ten loyalist territory, and the subtle yet imposing presence of G.M.R.T. officers is felt. Myles finds a seat and begins to eat. Alek, on the bench directly opposite, kneels on the cushion and rests on his folded legs.

  With a short, two-tone whistle, Myles grabs Alek’s attention — the boy he already considers the only real friend he’s made in the past five cycles. As Alek opens his eyes, he catches a small packet of Baalbecks mid-air with inhuman reflexes.

  “Think fast!” Myles jokes, tossing the snack toward Alek’s face, his own hands sticky with jelly and his mouth stuffed with bread. They rest. Myles dozes off.

  When he wakes, only two of the three hours of the journey have passed. He no longer recognizes the landscape or any faces around — except for Alek’s, perfectly still and directly in front of him. Violence, drugs, and prostitution become more visible as they head deeper into the city. A visibly drunk woman, who has just injected a translucent purple fluid behind her right knee, approaches him with a clumsy, awkward dance in a failed attempt at seduction, asking for any coin.

  “I’ve got no money, miss… But if you want…” Myles offers half a bag of Baalbecks.

  The woman scowls, showing gray, rotted teeth. Myles looks away. Not out of disgust — but because he knew that look too well. A hollow gaze. A gaze of someone who had given up. A gaze he recognized from his own past.

  He waits longer, watching the weather forecast for the 23rd time on the grimy, flickering displays. For the fifth time, he shows his ticket to a G.M.R.T. officer — a sign their stop is near. Just two more stations.

  When Myles and Alek disembark at the highest station he’s ever visited, they look for the North-Central exit. Myles, eager, heads toward the staircase — when he suddenly feels the sleeves of his coat tearing. Someone tried — and failed — to rip both his arms off.

  Instinctively, Myles runs toward the edge of the high platform, stopping and turning to face the attacker — a young man with pale, metallic skin, like mercury. Myles immediately realizes he’s facing a Silver Clan warrior — creatures he’d only read about. Thought extinct, wiped out by T?ten’s Special Forces.

  The attacker charges, fist raised. Myles had heard legends: invincible warriors with bodies of metal alloy. But they were only stories… or so he believed.

  “Watch out!” Myles shouts, pushing Alek with both hands, sending him flying into a flickering holographic banner just in time to dodge the first strike. Myles calculates, waits — and at the last second, leaps into the air.

  What he doesn’t see is Alek behind him. The second strike lands squarely on Alek’s jaw, launching him off the platform. For one moment, their eyes meet.

  No fear in Alek’s eyes.

  Only acceptance.

  Then, he disappears into the urban mix of mist and abyss.