Tram sat at the small wooden table, trying not to fidget as he watched the lamp’s flame dance against the darkening window. He and his younger brother, Gin, had been waiting for their father longer than usual. Outside, the dull rumble of the nearby Foundry rolled through the evening air. Inside, it was warm but tense.

  “Momma, where is Papa?” Gin asked, tapping an apple against the table’s edge. “He’s late… I’m hungry.”

  Their mother hovered by the window, apron twisted between her hands. She was usually patient, but tonight her knuckles shone white. “Soon, Gin. Just a bit longer,” she said, eyes flicking to the street. “We always wait for him, don’t we?”

  Tram sighed, leaning forward. “You know how it is, Gin. He can’t leave until his shift is covered. If the next crew’s late, he’s stuck.”

  Gin frowned, rolling the apple slowly between his palms. “I know, but—”

  “Shh,” Mother said, gentle but firm. “Your father works hard at that Foundry. The least we can do is share a meal together. He likes to hear about your day, remember?”

  The cramped kitchen bore quiet witness to their routine: the tattered plaid cloth spread over the table, the mismatched chairs, the chipped cupboard that creaked when anyone crossed the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was home. The smell of bread and soup lingered in the warm air, making Tram’s stomach tighten with hunger.

  Gin slumped in his chair, still sulky, while Tram nudged the apple with two fingers, sending it rolling back to his brother. The boys tried half-heartedly to distract themselves—guessing how many buckets of ore their father had hefted today, or what he might bring home from the market square next week. Meanwhile, their mother said nothing more, just kept scanning the narrow street beyond the shutters.

  Then she stiffened. “Oh, I see him!” Her tone rose, relief mixing with uncertainty. “He’s just turned the corner…”

  She paused, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Something’s wrong.”

  The door flew open, rattling in its frame. Their father stumbled inside, panting hard, sweat and grime streaking his face. Tram saw blood matting the hair near his temple and the strange angle of his right arm, as if he were trying not to use it. He shoved the door closed and dropped the latch with a trembling hand.

  Mother gasped, rushing forward. “You’re hurt! What—?”

  He pressed a finger to his lips, cutting her off. “Quiet. Lights out,” he rasped, voice rough. “Douse the fire.”

  She hurried to the small hearth and smothered the coals beneath a thick cloth, her breathing sharp. The lamplight vanished as she pinched the wick, plunging them into a half-darkness lit only by the faint moon glow through the window.

  “Papa?” Tram asked, voice small. Gin stood behind him, half-hidden.

  Their father took a shaky breath. “Brigands…they attacked The Foundry,” he said, still catching his breath. He peered through the window, then jerked back, yanking the thin curtains closed. “They’re hitting the whole island. I got away, but…”

  Mother pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes full of questions she didn’t dare ask. Instead, she moved closer, reached for Father’s good arm. “What do we do?”

  “Hide the boys,” he said, voice tight. He bent low, sweeping the rug aside. The old door set into the floor creaked as he lifted it. “You two,” he turned to Tram and Gin, “down here. Quickly. And not a sound.”

  Gin looked from Tram to Father, eyes watering. “Papa—”

  Father’s tone softened, even as his breath stayed ragged. “Listen, lads. You must stay quiet, no matter what. Don’t come out until I return. Promise me.”

  Tram nodded, grabbing Gin’s hand and guiding him toward the dark space. “Papa, what about you—?”

  Their father knelt, wincing, and placed his good hand on Tram’s shoulder. He tried to smile, tried to calm them. “Your mother and I love you. More than anything,” he said, voice hoarse. He kissed their foreheads, one after the other. “Do as I say, and we’ll be fine.”

  Mother hovered behind him, silent tears glistening on her cheeks. She smoothed Gin’s hair before Tram helped him down. The space below smelled of damp earth and old wood. Tram climbed down after his brother, turning to see their parents’ silhouettes above.

  “Not a sound,” Father repeated, gently lowering the door until darkness and silence enclosed them. The rug rustled back into place overhead, leaving the boys huddled together, hearts pounding in the blackness.

  Darkness pressed down on Tram and Gin as they crouched beneath the floorboards, clutching each other. Above, the muffled hush of their home felt fragile. Tram tried to make sense of the chaos: the crash of their door, Father’s urgent whispers, Mother’s trembling voice. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to imagine what might happen next.

  Then came the brutal sound of wood splintering. Tram stiffened as something toppled above, maybe a chair or the old cupboard. Footsteps scuffed the floor. A low, rasping voice filled the silence:

  “You took one of my men. D’you think we’d let that slide?”

  Tram’s heart hammered. He pictured his father squaring his shoulders, standing between these invaders and Mother. Outside, the distant roar of flames and collapsing timbers reminded them all that this wasn’t just a robbery—it was a raid on their entire island.

  A second voice joined in, thick and amused. “Barrel, grab ’er,” it said, deep and steady. Tram imagined the hulking figure called Barrel stepping forward, the floor creaking under his weight. Father must have moved too, because there was a dull thud and a grunt, as if he’d tried to shield Mother from a blow.

  “Please,” Mother’s voice trembled. “We have coin…valuables. Take them. Just go.”

  Tram felt Gin tremble in his arms. He pressed his hand over his brother’s mouth to keep him quiet. Papa said not a sound.

  The first voice let out a slow, mocking laugh. “We’ll be taking all we want. But you cost me a man, and that don’t come free.” A pause, then: “Where’s Tarley? He should be back at the ship by now.” A frustrated sigh. “No matter. We’ve got time for this.”

  Tram swallowed, trying not to sob. They’d killed someone at the Foundry, one of these pirates. Father must have fought back. But these men didn’t seem impressed—just angry.

  Father’s voice, desperate and raw: “She’s done nothing! Take me if you must—just leave her be!”

  “Barrel,” the captain said again, voice tightening with impatience. “You heard me.” He sounded older now, and cold as iron. “Let’s settle our debt and be on our way before Tarley sends word. The Authority might show any moment.”

  A struggle. Mother’s pleading turned to a shriek. Tram couldn’t see, only hear the scrape of boots, the huff of exertion as Father fought back, and then a sickening crunch. A gunshot rang out—Tram nearly jumped—and he felt Gin flinch violently. Father’s cry was cut short.

  Silence, broken only by harsh breathing and Mother’s stifled sob. Another thud, and Mother’s voice vanished with a strangled gasp. The floorboards overhead trembled as the pirates moved about, yanking drawers open and tossing items aside.

  A rough voice spoke from somewhere near the door. “Not much, Cap’n. Just a few coins and some old books. No sign of Tarley yet. Let’s move.”

  “Fine,” the captain growled. “We’ve wasted enough time.” He sounded irritated now, like a man behind schedule. “Authority might be on the prowl. Come on, Barrel.”

  Tram listened as footsteps shuffled toward the exit, the door’s hinges whining. The distant crackle of fire and the muffled cursing of pirates drifted away. Then, at last, silence.

  He held Gin tight, both boys shaking, terrified. Above them, nothing stirred. The captain, Barrel, and their crew had gone.

  Tram waited, ears straining. Footsteps had faded, leaving only the crackle of distant flames and the distant hum of machinery outside. He counted to twenty in his head, then another twenty. Finally, he eased his grip on Gin.

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  “Stay here,” Tram whispered. His voice wavered, but he tried to sound sure. Gin stared at him, eyes full of tears and confusion.

  “Where’s Papa?” Gin asked, voice so soft Tram barely heard it.

  Tram swallowed hard, his throat raw. “I’m going to find them,” he lied gently. “Remember what Papa said—stay put, keep quiet. I’ll be back soon.”

  Gin nodded, though fresh tears welled up. Tram reached up and pushed on the door in the floor. It stuck for a moment before sliding open, the rug dragging heavily. He climbed out, careful not to make any noise, then lowered it again, leaving Gin in darkness.

  The room smelled of spilled soup and something metallic and bitter. His heart clenched when he saw them. His father lay facedown near the table, blood pooling beneath him. His mother lay in the doorway, eyes wide and glassy, as if still begging for mercy. Tram covered his mouth, fighting the urge to cry out. He staggered forward, nearly slipping in the blood, but forced himself to look away. He couldn’t afford to break down. Not yet.

  He stepped over her body and into the night. The alley was lit by flickering flames reflected in puddles of oil and water. The sky glowed an eerie orange from spreading fires. In the distance, people screamed, and somewhere glass shattered. Tram stayed low, heart pounding. He had to think. He had to find help, or at least understand what was happening.

  Down the hill toward Copper Forge, the clang and scrape of metal rose above the din. He followed it, half-running, half-stumbling over broken crates and scattered debris. Dead neighbors lay slumped in doorways, smoke stung his eyes, and everywhere he looked, ruin.

  As he neared the forge’s courtyard, the shadows grew thicker, cast by something enormous overhead. A banner drifted from the ship’s aft rigging: red and white cloth emblazoned with a skull. A rose replaced the skull’s right eye, and a jagged crack split across it—a mark that felt both mocking and cruel. The same emblem, smaller but unmistakable, was stitched onto the cloaks and sashes of the men below. Tram realized this must be their standard, the sign of their crew.

  The pirates worked fast, hauling crates and metal ingots into nets that were winched upwards. High above, on the ship’s deck, a lean figure in a long coat hollered orders through a copper funnel. “Captain!” he called, voice cutting through the engines’ roar. “We’ve spotted an Authority cruiser approaching!”

  This must be Tarley, Tram thought. The first mate’s tone was urgent and clipped, the kind of voice used to keeping men moving. Tarley’s silhouette leaned over the railing, holding a spyglass that caught a flash of firelight.

  Moments later, another figure stepped forward on the deck, visible through the haze: the Captain. Older, weathered, and broad-shouldered, he wore a dark cloak with that same red-and-white insignia stitched on the back. A patch covered one eye, and a white streak cut through his disheveled dark hair. He gestured sharply, and his men sprang into action. Even from down here, Tram could sense his authority—he ruled these pirates through fear and skill, and they answered him without question.

  “Time is running short!” the Captain roared. He angled his head toward Tarley, voice rolling down to the street. “Take what we have and go! We won’t tangle with the Authority unless we must.”

  Below, the crewmen cursed and heaved at the chains. Tram pressed himself flat behind the crates. He just needed to slip away, maybe find an Authority patrol before it was too late. If the Authority could scare these pirates off, maybe, just maybe, he’d have a chance to return home and get Gin somewhere safe.

  He steadied his breathing, preparing to edge back into the alley. But a loose plank shifted under his foot with a dull creak. Tram’s heart lurched. He froze, praying the noise had been lost in the rumble of engines and shouted orders.

  A dry chuckle came from the shadows behind him, low and smug. “Well, well… wha’ do we ’ave here?” A figure moved closer, half in light, half in dark. Tram saw the dull gleam of a cybertech arm, the broad shoulders. It was the brute he’d heard earlier, the one they called Barrel. And he wasn’t alone. Another silhouette hovered behind him, blocking Tram’s escape route.

  Tram’s pulse hammered in his ears. He’d been spotted.

  A voice, low and oily: “Well, well…wha’ do we ‘ave here?” It came from just beyond the crates, startlingly close. Tram’s stomach tightened as he realized he wasn’t alone. He tried to inch back, but it was too late.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught the dull gleam of a cybernetic arm and a broad figure looming in the shadows. The man named Barrel stepped forward, and he wasn’t alone. Another silhouette hovered just behind him, blocking Tram’s escape.

  Tram’s heart hammered. He’d been spotted.

  Tram’s muscles tensed as Barrel lumbered closer, that cybertech arm glinting faintly in the flickering light. He saw the man’s grin, twisted and hungry. No question what would happen if they caught him.

  Tram bolted.

  He dodged right, slipping into a narrow gap between two charred fences. Splinters snagged his clothes as he forced his way through. Behind him came a crash and a snarl of frustration as Barrel tried to follow.

  “Over here!” shouted the other pirate, boots thudding on uneven cobblestones.

  Tram took off down the alley, lungs burning. The smoke and soot caught in his throat, and his eyes watered, but he pushed on. He had to survive—for Gin. Footsteps pounded after him, heavy and determined.

  He passed a toppled cart and leapt over the broken wheel. Behind him, wood splintered as Barrel barreled straight through the obstacle. Tram risked a glance back and saw sparks fly where the man’s metal arm smashed into crates. The pirate was strong, but not as quick. If Tram kept moving, kept twisting through tighter spaces, maybe he could lose them.

  He turned down another alley, barely wide enough for a grown man’s shoulders. The night was a jumble of smoke and flickering firelight, every corner hiding fresh dangers. He vaulted a low fence into a backyard piled high with discarded scrap. The metal shifted noisily beneath his feet, and he bit back a curse, hurrying onward. Beyond this, there had to be another route.

  A sharp clang echoed as Barrel crashed through the fence behind him. The man cursed, shouting orders to his partner. Tram couldn’t make out the words, only the anger fueling them.

  He emerged onto a moonlit lane scarred by scorch marks and broken glass. Flames licked at a nearby building, its roof collapsing in a shower of sparks. Every turn offered dead ends or deadly obstacles. Tram darted behind a stack of crates near an old warehouse—just long enough to catch his breath—and spotted a flimsy side door bent off its hinges.

  Before he could think twice, he squeezed through. Inside, the place reeked of rust and damp. Weak moonlight filtered through a ragged hole in the tin wall. He heard Barrel’s footsteps outside, closer now, crunching on shattered planks.

  Tram’s gaze darted around in the gloom. A few overturned barrels and scraps of metal lay scattered on the floor. He needed a hiding spot—fast. He saw a cluster of crates near the back corner, piled haphazardly. Maybe he could slip behind them.

  But as he crept over, his foot caught on something. He looked down to see a jagged tear in the wall: a narrow opening bent inward where the metal had rusted through. Tram dropped to his knees, heart pounding. If he squeezed through, maybe he could get away from this warehouse altogether.

  Scraping sounds came from outside as Barrel tested the door. Tram winced when it gave way with a groan. He had to move now. Turning sideways, he shoved through the gap. A sharp edge sliced at his shoulder, drawing a gasp of pain. He clamped his teeth to keep quiet.

  On the other side, he nearly tripped over someone huddled against the wall. His breath caught—he wasn’t alone. Moonlight from a distant streetlamp slanted in, illuminating a pair of terrified eyes. A girl, close to his own age, stared at him, cheeks stained with tears.

  Outside, Barrel’s metal arm smashed through crates in the alley. Dust and bits of wood rained down. The girl’s eyes widened, and Tram raised a finger to his lips, silent and pleading.

  They both froze, listening.

  For a long moment, Tram and the girl just stared at each other, breathing quietly in the shadowed alley. The thunder of the airship’s engines had faded; distant screams and collapsing timbers were all that remained. Outside, Barrel cursed under his breath before stomping off—some urgent summons pulling him away. After a few tense seconds, his footsteps receded into the smoky night.

  Tram let out the breath he’d been holding and slumped against the battered wall. He swallowed, blinking away tears he’d kept at bay since leaving Gin behind. He had to keep it together.

  The girl sniffled softly. Her face was streaked with soot and grime, her eyes red from crying. When Tram looked at her more closely, he saw raw fear there, and pain. She flinched as his gaze lingered, so he softened his expression, tried to make his voice gentle.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, quiet as he could.

  She shook her head, lips quivering. “I… I don’t know,” she managed. “I… they came into our home. My da’ made me run before they got inside.” Her voice broke, and she pulled her knees up, hugging them. “He fought them off, I think. I’m not sure if he got away. I ran. I… I’m so scared.”

  Tram’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling the uselessness of the words. His own parents’ faces flashed before him. The emptiness he felt in that moment, the pain still raw. “I know,” he added softly. “It’s bad out there.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Tram,” he said. “My family… we lived just up the hill.” His voice faltered, but he steadied it. “Look, I need to check on my younger brother. He’s hiding.” He hesitated, glancing back toward the route he’d taken. Firelight flickered, silhouettes wavered, but he saw no pirates nearby. “You can come with me if you want. It’s not safe alone.”

  The girl hiccuped and nodded. “Lizzy,” she said quietly. “I’m Lizzy.”

  Tram placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get away from here.”

  Stepping carefully, they emerged from their hiding place. Around them, Monument Island lay in ruin. Buildings smoldered, and broken beams jutted at wild angles. The smell of ash and char clung to everything. The distant roar of Authority ships hinted that help might be coming—but it wasn’t here yet.

  They moved slowly through the alleys, avoiding main streets where bodies and debris lay scattered. Tram guided them in a roundabout route, keeping Lizzy close. Now and then, she stumbled on loose rubble, and Tram steadied her, neither saying much. There was no comfort to be had in words—only the grim task of surviving.

  They passed what had once been a bakery, its sign now blackened and split. A home with its roof caved in, embers glowing in the wreckage. A pair of smoke-stained figures in a doorway called weakly for help, but Tram couldn’t stop. He had to find Gin first.

  Turning the final corner, Tram’s heart caught in his throat. His home was there, but the roof was aflame, timbers collapsing inward. The heat radiated onto the street. He’d left Gin in the crawl space, safe for a time—but now?

  He ran ahead, ignoring Lizzy’s gasp. The front door stood open, just as he’d left it. The room inside was hazy with smoke. He shoved his sleeve against his mouth and nose as he stepped over the threshold. He tried not to look at Mother’s body, at Father’s still form. He forced himself onward.

  “Gin?” he called, voice muffled. He knew he should be quieter—if pirates lingered—but panic took hold. Flames crackled overhead as he grabbed at the rug, yanking it aside. The trapdoor was open, empty.

  He stared down into darkness. Gin was gone.