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I lifted a shoulder. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

A burst of smoke spluttered from Thorn as he laughed. It ricocheted off the walls, and I cringed at the attention it brought. I pulled my hood over my head.

“Lamb, the list of things you can handle is frighteningly short. But you’re an adult, so I’ll spare you another lecture about running off to Astaly with your tail between your legs.” Thorn took the padded envelope and thumbed through the cash. “Timeline stands, but if I have any cancellations, I’ll bump you up. Astaly paperwork is a bitch to forge.”

“Thanks, Thorn, and I appreciate the lack of lecture.”

Thorn wasn’t one to judge. I didn’t have to second-guess his words or motives. Thorn didn’t care about me, full stop, but it was nice not to feel used for my famous last name. That wouldn’t be a problem soon. Thorn was forging my Astaly citizenship papers and organizing passage over the insular country’s border.

I knew little about what it was like. Except it was filled with Designated and no one knew the name Hartlock.

“Still think you’re making a mistake, but I won’t harp on about it.” Thorn pursed his lips. “Puck’s waiting outside. Give him this and tell him Thorn said to keep an extra eye on you.”

I let out a relieved sigh and took the cash Thorn offered.

“I’ll message you when it’s ready to pick up.” Thorn gave me his back, and I hurried out of the dim warehouse, ignoring the calls of vendors.

The solid door opened with a groan. Puck, a wiry ten-year-old with a foul mouth, kicked at an empty soda can.

“Thank you, for—” I started.

Puck let out a soft chuckle as a loud turn of the lock behind made me flinch.

“You’re jumpy today.”

“Didn’t sleep well.” I grimaced.

Fenella burst into the apartment in a rage yesterday, and I could barely make out the words of her vitriol-laced rant. She insisted I was late giving her my share of the rent, and nothing I said soothed her. She insisted the only way I could repay her was by letting her borrow my clothes.

“Bet you’ve got a proper mattress, though. I’m gonna have one of those someday. If I was rich, I’d get piano lessons from Clay as well.” Puck ran his hands along the wall, fingering the carved grooves. They were directions easily deciphered by those who lived here.

Puck was my guide, and the only reason I hadn’t gotten swallowed whole by The Barracks the first time I visited on my own. There was a nuance to this place that came from living and breathing it since birth. Underneath the towering apartment buildings was a rabbit warren of tunnels. I paid Puck well to take me where I needed to go, and I knew Thorn tipped him for the same reason. He wouldn’t have many clients if they ended up disappearing on their way to him.

“Is that what you’re saving up for?” I asked the young boy.

Coming to The Barracks pricked me in a way I couldn’t heal from. It made me think about my parents. How they started and ended in this place. It hadn’t healed after the terrorist attacks, and seeing the rough edges of this place contrasted against Puck’s relentless grit and positivity made me ashamed of my worries.

He scratched his messy ponytail and flashed a satisfied, gaping smile. “Oh yes, and a full-size fridge, full of soda.”

“And vegetables,” I teased.

His guarded gaze flitted to mine for a moment. Pity throbbed in my chest, but I kept that to myself, knowing it was worse. The humans ravaged this place and the council turned a blind eye, not caring enough to make it right.

"Gross." Puck sniffed.

There had been a time in my life when I thought I might make a difference, but that was long past. My fingers itched at the camera I kept in my bag. A gift from my parents when I told them about the documentary series I wanted to make about their efforts in The Barracks community. My dad was passionate about putting in the work for the place he grew up in.

The memory of the pride in their faces was like blisters, still swollen with pain. Shame scraped and scraped until it whittled my bones.

We entered into a popular partying spot. There was a row of clubs and music spilled from the neon entrance, as the party continued at nine in the morning.

“You can come to me if you need. I want you to know that.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Puck replied, his sneer deepening as someone stumbled out of the club.

I whipped my head in their direction. Watching the way the tall, wiry Designated dragged his hand down the wall in our direction.

“You’re not alone, Puck,” I said the words I wished I had been told.