Chapter 19 — The Keys to the Tower
The transport ship's interior smelled of iron, smoke, and sweat. Survivors filled the benches, eyes hollow, clothes torn, armor dented. Every few seconds, the hull rattled as the ship cut through Rift turbulence. No one spoke much. The silence wasn't peace—it was shock, wrapped tight.
Tyler sat two rows forward from me, shoulders square, voice hushed as he muttered something to Marcus. He didn't look back at first. Not until the hum of the engines steadied, not until the light from the Rift had faded through the viewports. Then he glanced.
Our eyes didn't meet.
Mine were closed, arms folded, head tipped as if sleep had finally found me. But I could feel his stare the way you feel a blade near your skin—sharp, hesitant, waiting for the plunge.
He shifted on the bench. His knuckles tapped his thigh. Marcus leaned toward him, whispering something, but Tyler shook his head. His eyes flicked back again, restless.
Alive. His look said it, though his mouth never did. You're alive. You weren't supposed to be.
I didn't answer him with words or even movement. I didn't need to.
Because the rule of the Crucible hung over every one of us: what happens inside the Rift stays buried. You don't discuss your kills, your tricks, your betrayals. If you do, the punishment doesn't come from guards or judges. It comes from the Towers themselves, from the authority that governs the Crucible.
Tyler knew it. I knew it. Everyone did.
So he sat there, twitching in his noble armor, grinding his teeth while the engines carried us home.
And I rested.
---
The ship docked with a hiss of seals locking. A shaft of golden light cut through the cabin as the doors opened.
"Towers survivors—disembark!" the overseer bellowed.
We filed down the ramp into the holding courtyard. Marble stone, high banners, guards in polished armor. The scent of incense mixed with oil fires. Above us, the thousand floors of the Tower rose like a mountain carved by men who thought themselves gods.
For most, the sight drew awe. For me, it was simply confirmation: I was inside now.
Names were called. Survivors stepped forward, announced their Traits, handed over any preserved Beast Hearts, then were assigned living quarters. Nobles were cheered, paraded for their families waiting behind the barricades. The lower-born, the orphans, were processed with cold efficiency.
"Standfeild, Avon," a clerk called, voice sharp.
I walked forward. Papers shuffled. He didn't look at me long. Just scribbled, reached into a box, and pressed a heavy iron key into my palm. A slip of parchment bore the numbers etched on the tag.
"Tower residency assigned," he droned. "Sub-level minus three hundred and five. Report tomorrow for your contribution assignment."
The words hung a moment. Not a floor in the sky. A floor in the ground.
Sub-levels. I hadn't even known they existed.
Behind me, whispers stirred. "Basement?" "That far down?" "Not even light reaches there."
I rolled the key in my hand. The weight was honest, cold. My fingers curled around it and I nodded once.
"Understood," I said.
The clerk blinked at my calm, expecting maybe protest. "Dismissed."
I walked from the desk without complaint. The Tower rose above, stabbing the clouds, but my path ran downward, into stone and shadow.
Tyler's laugh trailed behind me, sharp and brittle. Marcus muttered something smug. But beneath the noise I caught the thin edge of unease. Because even from the highest balcony, even with family wealth to shield him, Tyler knew this much:
Dead men don't take keys.
And yet, here I was, key in hand, alive.
The sub-levels didn't bother me. Walls were walls. Rooms were rooms. Whether you climbed toward sunlight or sank toward the dark, the Tower was still the Tower. All that mattered was entry. All that mattered was that I had a foothold.
The rest would come later.
I slipped the key into my pocket, turned my back on the stares, and walked toward the stairwells that would take me down.
Inside, I smiled once.
Because a wolf didn't care where he slept.
Only how far he could run when the gate finally opened.