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“Bombs dropped on all the major cities and eviscerated the Midwest, which housed most of the nuclear silos,” Winnie explained. “According to the Archives, anyone who didn’t secure a spot underground either died from the blasts or starved.”

“But how did the government decide who got a spot underground and who didn’t?” Adan asked.

Winnie hesitated, her face twisting. “Government documents stated that those under thirty and couples with kids were the priority. Everyone else was left to die. But many people who met the strict qualifications weren’t able to get in because the wealthy bribed officials and soldiers for spots.”

“That’s so messed up.”

Winnie nodded, leaning forward intently. “That’s why it’simportant for everyone to remember our history. To memorize our twisted scars and mistakes so that we may become better versions of humanity.”

They hung on her every word, captivated by the grim truths of the Great Collapse.

Khalani gave a sad smile and stepped outside for some fresh air.

The hopeful side of her, the one Winnie had brought back to life in prison, believed that humanity could correct its mistakes. Their bleak history of death and cruelty didn’t have to define their future.

But the dark pit inside her stomach continued to expand as she gazed around the ruins of the empty city.

It felt like the same ignorance and capacity for destruction that nearly ended the world was stirring, like something treacherous had awakened.

Her hands shook as she stepped through the door, her boots crunching on broken glass. Takeshi and Brock stood on opposite sides of the store entrance outside.

Brock looked out at the buildings, while Takeshi sharpened his knife. She winced, the jagged grating of metal against stone providing the only eerie soundtrack to the haunting quiet.

“Hey,” she greeted them awkwardly.

Brock acknowledged her with a casual one-finger salute, not bothering to look her way. Takeshi inclined his head, his fiery gaze locking onto her briefly and making her shiver. But he quickly went back to focusing on his blade, sharpening it as if it was the only thing keeping him calm.

Khalani walked over to one of the ruined cars in front of the store. It looked as if its owner hastily abandoned it there without a thought. Its faded yellow surface was marred with burn marks and every window was blown out.

She leaned against the frame, lacing her fingers behind herhead, drawing in a deep breath.

Khalani counted down the seconds, praying midnight would come faster, but the sun stayed high in the sky. Staring. Waiting for their next move.

She gave Brock a sidelong glance, hoping to kill time another way. “How do you know this Spade guy?”

She half-expected him to ignore her, but Brock sighed and walked over, hopping on the hood of the car she was leaning against.

She raised a brow, worried the wrecked car would crumble with his weight, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“Spade saved my life,” Brock began, his elbows resting on his knees, hands steepled together. “Most Death-Zoners stay in Hermes at least a month after the long trek across the desert. Hermes isn’t like Apollo. They thrive off sin and debauchery, like a terrible jar of whiskey you keep chugging.”

As Brock spoke, she noticed Takeshi slowly drawing closer, the scraping of his knife becoming less frequent as he listened.

“One night in the casino, I was at my usual spot at the bar, drinking my life away, when I heard a commotion. A young woman, desperate to feed her family, had spent the last of her money gambling. She lost of course and was convinced the casino had cheated her. Something about her tears and the uncaring way security had treated her didn’t sit right with me. I caused a scene. Punched a couple of Dealers when they tried to arrest her. Another guard came over and pulled out his pistol.

“But then, Spade stepped in and talked the guard down. I didn’t know then how much influence he wielded in the city, but I did notice the wad of cash he slipped into the woman’s pocket—more than she ever needed. I left, sleeping it all off. But the next day, when I showed up at the bar, Spade was waiting for me.

“He started talking to me every day, wanting to know the little things. My preferences in alcohol and food. What I thought ofHermes. Apollo. He became fully aware of my discontent with the underground cities, and he was the only person I could stand in that wretched place. During my last week there, he confided in me about the resistance group in Hermes and how they could use my help smuggling supplies as a highly regarded Death-Zoner. It was an easy decision for me. They’re good people, probably the only good people left underground.”

She sat in silence, letting his story weave through her mind.

Hermes sounded completely different from Apollo.

Apollo didn’t have casinos—whatever those were—bars, dancing, or any type of late-night gatherings. Debauchery was frowned upon, and any mingling after hours had to be done in secret.

The Council loved to spread fear, rewarding those who betrayed their neighbors in the name of patriotism, even if the accusations were false. Because of that, most people were terrified to get to know one another.

But the desperation in Brock’s story, the indifference toward others, treating the poor as expendable…maybe that was a common trait in every underground city.