Kai squinted through the gloom of early morning as he stepped off the landing platform and onto the narrow walkway that connected their loft to the neighboring block. The sun was still low, filtered through the ash clouds that drifted across Zone β like ghosts. Today's task: deliver Maya's handmade antiseptic salve to Nurse Patel at the enclave infirmary, then pick up fresh cleaning supplies from Ms. Renaud's apothecary stall.
He navigated the overgrown corridor between two vaulted apartment wings, where ferns and moss had claimed every crack. His fingers brushed against a thread of ivy climbing the railing—softer than cloth, cool as marble. The world felt alive under his fingertips, as though it remembered what it once was.
At the infirmary entrance, a curtained archway patched with old tarpaulin, Kai hesitated. Inside, he could hear Nurse Patel humming as she mixed herbs and salve in chipped porcelain bowls. A shiver of anticipation ran up his spine—helping someone always felt meaningful. He slipped through the curtain and offered the small clay jar to Patel.
"Message from Maya," he said, voice steady. "Should help with the inflammation on your arm."
Patel's eyes lit up. "Bless you, child." She examined the jar, its lid stamped with a crude dinosaur emblem—Maya's signature. "You can leave that here. And take this," she added, handing him a folded cloth bundle. "Fresh bandages and a bit of chlorofoam for the cuts near the entrance ramp."
Kai tucked the bundle into his pack and gave her a curt nod. "Thank you." He stepped back into the corridor, feeling the bundle's weight like a promise.
Next stop: Ms. Renaud's apothecary, a cart under a collapsed streetlamp now repurposed as a makeshift awning. An array of dried roots and tincture bottles stood on tiered shelves, each labeled in faded ink. Kai set down his pack and greeted her.
"Good morning, Ms. Renaud. Maya said to pick up two vials of antiseptic spray and a dozen cloth wipes."
Ms. Renaud peered at him over gold-rimmed glasses. "You're a polite one, aren't you? Everything you carry is paid for." She wrapped the items in brown paper and tied them with a scrap of twine. "Tell her I'm grateful. Times are tight."
Kai slipped the package into his pack just as a distant rumble vibrated through the cart's wheels—no more than a minor tremor, familiar as a cough. He glanced around; shoppers and traders paused mid-conversation, waited a beat, then carried on. Routine reasserted itself.
He thanked Ms. Renaud and set off down the street, passing under an overpass where vines dripped from the concrete ribs like stalactites. Beyond, the skyline cracked with toppled cranes and skeletal towers. Kai's pace slowed as he approached the community laundry station—a stretch of rusted pipes and solar-heated water vats. Today's chore: fetch three buckets of hot rinse water for Maya's linens.
Kai filled the buckets one by one, careful not to spill a drop. The water steamed in the morning chill, beads of condensation on the sides. As he carried them back, he spotted Jax's patrol rover idling at the curb, its engine ticking as it cooled. Two guards in ash-streaked uniforms stood watch, their helmets reflecting the dull sky.
Kai tucked the buckets behind a market stall and approached them. "Morning, officers," he said, voice low.
One guard tipped his helmet. "Morning, kid. Rumor of another tremor near the eastern wall?" he asked.
Kai shook his head. "Nothing I've felt. Just morning chores." He meant to reassure them—and himself.
The guard grunted and returned to his post. Kai retrieved his buckets and continued toward home, each step measured so the water would stay inside.
By the time he reached the loft, the sun had climbed higher, and the courtyard below hummed with midday activity. He climbed the ladder and set the buckets by the back door, where Maya would find them. Inside, the loft smelled of lemon-scented soap and ink—Ellie's late-night work left papers and sketches scattered across the table.
Ellie looked up from a battered sketchpad, her eyes bright. "You're back early. Everything all right?"
Kai shrugged. "Done with deliveries. What are you working on?"
She patted the sketchpad. "Designing a new bracket for the greenhouse vents—it'll help regulate humidity when the storms come." She tapped a pencil against her lip. "Want to see the blueprint?"
Kai nodded and leaned over her shoulder. The lines were crisp, each measurement precise. He traced the outline of a curved vane meant to channel rainwater into the condensers. "That'll work," he said. "But you might need to reinforce the mounting holes—the wind yesterday nearly tore the panel off."
She smiled, surprised and pleased by his insight. "Good catch." She flipped the page to a rough schematic of a lever system that could manually adjust the vents. "You think I should build a prototype?"
He considered. Helping his sister plan a gadget felt as adventurous as any scout mission. "Yeah," he said at last. "Let's build it this afternoon. After lunch."
At the kitchen table, Maya ladled steaming congee into bowls. Ronan appeared at the doorway, dusting his hands on a rag. The family settled around the table in comfortable silence, the sunlight dancing on the porcelain. Kai savored each spoonful—the warmth, the soft rice grains, the tang of mushroom—it anchored him in the here and now.
Maya cleared her throat and offered a rare, small smile. "After lunch, we'll work on the vent brackets. And tonight, I want to hear about your deliveries."
Ronan nodded. "Routine, yes—but every day counts." He looked at Kai with quiet pride. "You're doing well."
Kai swallowed, warmth blooming in his chest. Routine first. Then growth. Routine first. Then tomorrow's unknown. Routine first. Then—
A distant crash cut through the loft's calm as a loose shutter slammed against the wall outside. Dust drifted from the ceiling, and Kai's muscles tensed. Maya rose, her hand moving to the satchel of medical supplies at her feet. Ronan stood as well, eyes narrowing toward the window.
Kai opened his mouth to remind them that today was supposed to be routine—but the tremor rattling their loft said otherwise. He felt the echo through his bones, faint but insistent, as if the world outside was calling him forward into something new. And for the first time, he wasn't sure he wanted to answer.
Maya's fingers trembled as she slid the window latch closed, sealing out the gust that rattled the panes. Ronan moved to the kitchen counter and hefted a stack of weighted cans onto the sill, bracing it against the wind. Kai stood frozen for a heartbeat, pulse racing as the loft creaked around him.
"Easy," Maya murmured, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "It's just another squall." She glanced at Ronan, then back to Kai, her eyes soft. "We've weathered worse."
Ronan straightened a leaning bookshelf so it wouldn't topple. "Nothing we can't handle," he said, voice low. He caught Kai's gaze and offered a small, reassuring nod. "Let's finish those prototypes."
Ellie reappeared, a length of metal rod in each hand. "Come on," she called, voice bright despite the wind's howl. "If we hurry, we'll have at least one vent bracket ready before the next storm."
Kai exhaled, the tension draining as purpose took its place. He followed Ellie to her workspace, where she'd already laid out the sketches and gathered scrap metal pieces. The rain lashed the skylight above, but beneath it, the siblings bent to their work.
Ellie handed Kai a thin strip of steel. "Clamp this here," she said, pointing to a corner of the bracket frame. "It needs to stay square while we weld." Her hands were steady, practiced. Kai positioned the strip and tightened the clamp until the pieces sat flush.
A sudden flare of light caught the edge of his vision—just a flicker, like the metal's reflection glowed for a moment before returning to its dull gray. Kai blinked and brushed a hand across the bracket. No heat, no pulse—only cold steel. He shook his head, attributing it to the storm's shadows.
Ellie fired up her makeshift soldering torch and began fusing the joint. The torch's blue flame danced at her fingertips, casting her face in sharp relief. Kai watched, mesmerized by the sparks that flew as metal met heat. He reached out to steady her arm, and their eyes met.
"Thanks," Ellie whispered. "I couldn't do this without you."
Kai felt a warmth in his chest stronger than the torch's glow. Together, they worked in silent rhythm: measure, cut, weld, file. Each stray spark was a small victory against the world outside.
After the bracket held firm, Ellie wiped sweat from her brow. "Perfect," she said, stepping back. She held it up as the room dimmed under a second rattling tremor. The bracket quivered in her hand, metal shivering like a chord struck too hard.
Kai's heart pounded again. He slid to her side and pressed a hand against her arm. "Is that…?" he began.
Ellie's jaw clenched. "Another one," she confirmed. "Must be deeper this time."
Ronan rose and checked the hallway door. "We need to secure the main corridor shutters next," he said. "Kai, grab those weights." He pointed to a basket by the door containing metal clamps and sandbags.
Kai dropped the bracket and dashed for the basket, scooping up two sandbags and a length of chain. He hauled them back and set them near the shutters. Maya joined him, her expression calm but urgent.
"Chain goes across the latch," she instructed, looping it through the handle and wrapping the sandbags around it. "That should hold. For now."
As they worked, the tremor subsided and the storm's howl softened to a distant roar. The family stepped back and surveyed their work: the window sealed, the brackets hardened, the corridor shutter bound tight.
Ellie exhaled, wiping her forehead. "That's enough excitement for one day," she muttered, though her lips quivered with excitement rather than fear.
Ronan placed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll log the tremor in the records tonight," he said. "But now, dinner."
Kai felt the familiar pull of routine reassert itself. He carried the remaining sandbags back to the basket, stacking them neatly, then helped Maya set the table for dinner: chipped bowls, a ladle of stew, handfuls of fresh greens.
As the family gathered around the table, the storm passed and the sky lightened to a steely gray. The tremors had reminded them that the world was never truly still—but for tonight, they chose to remember simple comforts instead.
Kai took his seat between Maya and Ronan, closing his eyes as Maya passed him a bowl. He inhaled the scent of simmering root vegetables and soft grain, and in that breath, he felt rooted—as firmly as the vines outside that clung to broken walls.
Outside, the fissures in the enclave walls sighed in the wind. Inside, the Vargas family found warmth in each shared spoonful, determined to anchor themselves in routine until the rifts could no longer be ignored.
The family shared the simple stew in comfortable silence, the storm finally spent and the tremors fading into distant memory. Kai traced the rim of his bowl, feeling its warmth seep through his fingers—proof that, for now, some things endured. Maya reached across to squeeze his hand, and Ronan offered a small, proud smile as he filled Ellie's bowl one last time.
Outside, the wind died, leaving only the soft drip of rain from the eaves. Inside, the Vargas family sat together, each heartbeat in rhythm with the slow return of calm. Routine, they knew, would anchor them through whatever tremors tomorrow brought.