The twilight air bit Jord’s cheeks as he walked, his muscles throbbing in synchronization with his footsteps. Near the canal bridge, a figure leaned against the railing – Krane, uniform untouched by the day’s grind, polished a knife with methodical strokes.

  Was the man waiting for me? Or is this mere chance?

  ‘Whittaker.’ Krane said. ‘Heard you survived Lapo.’

  Jord slowed but didn’t stop. ‘Hardly.’

  The blade gleamed as Krane tilted it toward Jord. ‘Uniform suits you. Almost like you belong.’

  Jord’s grip tightened on his soiled clothes. ‘Almost.’

  Krane sheathed the knife, nodding. ‘Almost. See you around.’

  His presence lingered as Jord crossed the bridge, the canal's black water swallowing Krane's shadow. Jord cast furtive glances backwards, his heart battering against his ribs. His rational mind refused to acknowledge Krane as a threat, whilst his more primitive part wouldn’t take much provocation to bolt.

  –––

  Jord hesitated for a heartbeat, then veered towards her, soiled uniform bundled under his arm.

  ‘One, please.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Lumina extended a leaflet by reflex, but as her gaze lifted, her fingers stalled. Those eerie, depthless eyes fixed on his collar. ‘Ah. Elia’s brother. Jord, yes?’

  Her smile was thin, distant, reserved.

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said, taking the pamphlet. ‘Apologies for last time. I was… off balance. Might’ve overstepped.’ He met her gaze. ‘Lumina, right?’

  ‘Lumina Valana.’ She tilted her head in acknowledgement. ‘A handshake is traditional, but…’ She lifted the stack in her arms. ‘Given our mutual burdens, let’s dispense with antique formality, no?’

  Jord huffed a quiet laugh. ‘Fair enough.’

  She studied him then, as if seeing more than she had at first. ‘You look… out of sorts. Are you all right?’

  Jord shifted his weight. ‘Somewhat. But thanks for asking.’

  ‘Merely observant.’ A pause. Then, with an almost offhand air, she added, ‘Tell Elia I have those erosion metrics he wanted.’

  ‘Will do.’

  She dipped her head. ‘Pleasure, Guardsman.’

  He took the hint and left. Three streets later, his grip had crumpled the pamphlet’s corner. He smoothed it out, eyes skimming the title. Public Trust in Southern Thamburg.

  A brittle laugh left him before he could stop it. For fuck’s sake Elia, I have just joined the Guards, and you’re already scheming? He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief.

  –––

  Jord arrived home, the evening air still clinging to his skin as he shut the door behind him. The scent of ink and paper thickened the air. Elia hunched over his notebook again, utterly absorbed in whatever it was that occupied his restless mind. Jord, curiosity piqued, wandered over and peered over his younger brother’s shoulder, noting a meticulously structured table filled with names and addresses.

  ‘Should I be worried about this?’ Jord asked dryly, his voice laced with playful suspicion.

  Elia, startled, snapped the notebook shut with an audible thud, sheepishly blinking up at Jord as if he'd only just realised he wasn’t alone. ‘Bloody hell, you scared me! I didn’t even hear you come in.’

  Jord smirked and tossed the pamphlet onto the table. ‘You were too busy scribbling your secret schemes to notice. What’s this all about, anyway? You up to something?’

  ‘What? No!’ Elia replied, before narrowing his eyes. ‘Why are you home so late?’

  Jord rolled his shoulders and let out a weary sigh. ‘Lapo. That devil of a man decided I hadn’t suffered enough. Had me training and training and training, despite the fact I’ve felt like I’ve been hit by a car all day.’

  Elia shrugged, insufferably smug. ‘Sounds like a you problem.’

  Jord scoffed. ‘Says the man who’d faint at five press-ups.’

  Elia simply shrugged, an insufferable smirk on his lips. But then his gaze drifted downwards, taking in Jord’s attire. ‘So you finally received the seal of approval, huh.’

  Jord said nothing but merely nodded in confirmation.

  Elia folded his arms. ‘What about weapons? Do they just hand you a gun and hope for the best?’

  Jord let out a short laugh. ‘Not quite. I’ll be issued one after some tutoring. Can’t have me brandishing steel around like an idiot, can they?’

  ‘Mmh. Suppose not.’ Elia leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. ‘Mum and Dad are home, by the way.’

  ‘Good,’ Jord replied. His stomach had begun to protest quite violently, and he wasn’t in the mood to argue with it. He rummaged through the cabinets, pulling together whatever ingredients he could scrounge up. ‘You eaten yet?’

  Elia shook his head. ‘Ate outside earlier. You’re on your own.’

  Jord frowned as he opened the fridge, noting the lack of essentials. ‘Great. My payslip can’t come soon enough.’ He muttered.

  After throwing together a quick meal, Jord ate in silence and continued to scrutinize Elia’s face in search of crumbs of explanation for its furtive deflections.

  Finished, he bid Elia goodnight before moving on to the tedious task of washing his clothes. He tossed them into the washer, waited, and then carried them outside to hang on the line.

  –––

  Morning came with no mercy. The aches from the previous day had settled into his bones, a continuous, nagging nuisance. He dragged himself into the shower, hoping the hot water would ease his discomfort – only for the boiler to sputter and fail on him once again.

  ‘Elia!’ he bellowed, voice reverberating through the house. ‘Restart the bloody boiler, will you?’

  A few moments later, it roared back to life. Jord sighed in relief, muttering a quiet ‘finally’ before finishing up and heading to the kitchen.

  He brewed himself a coffee, only to find their supply worryingly low. Grimacing, he tore a piece of paper from a notepad and scrawled a list of necessities. He’d stop by the market later – no sense in waiting until they were scraping the bottom of the barrel.

  With that, he downed his coffee, braced himself for the aftertaste and another long day, and stepped out the door.

  –––

  Thamburg felt strange, as if a blanket of anxiety enveloped the city. Newsagents bolted their grilles, their movements frenetic. A cluster of pensioners huddled together as if seeking shelter from an encroaching threat. Their tone and glances, Jord noted when he passed by, furtive and frantic, only relaxing somewhat when they saw him or, if he traced their eyes, his uniform. Not only did the populace feel agitated, but even the fauna shared the same breath of paranoia. Leashed dogs almost mirrored their masters’ silent sentiment, their tails tucked low, their fluffy ears close to their bodies.

  Jord was not spared from beginning to feel the same way. Unconsciously, he huddled his coat tighter. However, what truly alarmed him and made him doubt that something was afoot was the severe increase in military personnel armed with heavy machinery. If someone asked when the last time something of the same calibre had happened, he could not respond, for he held no memory of such an event ever occurring, save in minor form, during the strike waves at the beginning of the decade. And so, with worry brewing in his gut, he trudged on.

  A guard intercepted him at the gates and redirected him to Mara’s new office.

  ‘Morning, Whittaker. We got a whisper from the Ministry. We are in a state of high alert: we have received reliable information that the Lavitii’s military is amassing troops at the border. Do not share this information with outsiders, understood?’ she said. ‘And do not use your device to share critical information. The Department of Internal Security believes that our infrastructure might be under foreign scrutiny.’

  Jord’s gut soured. ‘What’s that to us?’ To me.

  ‘That means that you’re on reserve now – "mobilisation", they called it. "Just in case."’ Her smile could’ve chiselled ice. ‘Do yourself a favour and keep a low profile. Because if you slip up, it won’t be the Guard’s Bureau you’ll have to fear – it’ll be the court-martial. And that, if not sufficently clear, I affirm you, will not result in a simple pay cut.’

  Jord thanked her, but the words felt ash in his throat.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Lapo materialised at the training field, eyes lit with a zealot’s fire. His fist closed around Jord’s shoulder, calluses grating. ‘Time to trade calluses for calibre,’ he growled, thrusting a practice sabre into Jord’s hands. Its grip felt alien, treacherous.

  A sword? Jord felt stunned, his mouth slightly ajar, as if he wanted to say something but stumbled at the last step. Had the sun baked his brain?

  Across the yard, Jory drilled recruits in bayonet work. Krane's and Jord's gazes met – Jord braced for venom and spite – but the man merely dipped his chin, a curt nod acknowledging to shared constription folly.

  By dusk, Jord’s palms felt tender, his calluses almost peeled away.

  –––

  He limped past Lumina’s, her gaze hooked into him – sharp, appraising. The uniform scrubbed his neck raw, its wool now a convict’s brand. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and walked by.

  Malkiri’s shop smelled of spice, old wood, and the faint tang of cured meat. Jord placed a few essentials on the counter – bread, milk, eggs, a small wedge of cheese, coffee, and sugar.

  Malkiri, a stout man with greying hair and a nose like a hawk’s beak, eyed the goods, then eyed Jord. ‘On credit, is it?’ he said, his Velmarian accent curling around the words.

  Jord exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, almost ashamed. ‘Just till my payslip comes through.’

  Malkiri chuckled, shaking his head as he began bagging the items. ‘Some things never change. I remember a scruffy lad who’d dart in here, pockets empty, promising to pay me back “soon.”’

  Jord smirked. ‘And I always did.’

  ‘Aye, eventually.’ Malkiri slid the goods across the counter. ‘Go on, then. Just don’t make me chase you down,’ He eyed Jord, ‘guardsmen or not.’

  Jord grabbed the bag with a nod. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

  ‘Give your folks my regards. Have a good evening.’

  ‘Will do. You too, Malk,’ Jord said, lifting a hand in farewell before stepping out of the mini-market.

  –––

  The trudge home grew quieter still; the streets had almost emptied themselves, no more people, no more conversations, only the occasional ambulance breaking the silence’s veil – Thamburg’s had the air of a city counting coins in the dark.

  Jord sidestepped a telecoms van, its logo almost scrubbed off: Velmar Networks – Connecting Futures. A bitter joke. He remembered how they’d privatised the infrastructure, then priced its carcass beyond reach. He saw how, first, they incrementally raised the price on bandwidth; then, when the venture became unprofitable, they stripped most of the copper wires and sold them for scrap. Now, if someone wanted to use the service for even ten flimsy minutes, they had to pay a day’s wage and pray that their conversation would be free from crosstalk.

  The same applied to televisions. Now, channels lurked behind layers of paywalls, each price more egregious than the last. The public broadcast service, once the pride of all Meridia, had fallen to private interests, its formerly rich programming of educational content replaced by hollow corporate interest and meaningless adverts to promote commodities that felt out of reach each passing day.

  Only national papers held some sway over him, but not much.

  Such considerations had not come from nothing, for he, while seeking a reprieve from the day’s grind, had started comparing newspapers, an idle habit that soon turned poisonous.

  That fateful day, he took five different publications. They held five identical narratives but worded them differently. That was not strange, his mind argued, for if the truth was that, then there was no motivation to dance around it and embellish it.

  But then, he found something afoot on the sixth page of the Thamburg’s Herald. An article that dared to question Nasar's grip on Thamburg's power grid, backed with claims of engineers' testimonies and accountants' records.

  The paper was made to vanish within days, its authors buried under an avalanche of defamation suits. Jord saw how their reputations were methodically dismantled and their names dragged through the mud. He'd watched it all unfold in the good papers, he felt each headline a fresh nail in truth's coffin. From the following days, he always took the news presented at face value.

  The sight of his front door snapped Jord back to the present. He fumbled in his pockets for keys, the metal teeth biting into his palm as he turned the lock. Inside, only darkness. No clatter of pans, no murmur, just the hum of the fridge.

  ‘Elia?’ His voice echoed off the walls.

  Nothing.

  He paced back and forth in the cramped hallway, shadow warping grotesquely under the lone bulb he’d flicked on.

  Their shift ended hours ago. They’d never work this much overtime. His thumb hovered over his family’s contacts.

  His father’s line rang into the void. Elia’s diverted to a robotic ‘subscriber unavailable.’ Jord’s pulse started racing. He stabbed his mother’s contact.

  One ring. Two –

  ‘Ah. Hello?’ Her voice frayed at the edges, tinny and coarse through the speaker.

  ‘Mum – where are you? The city is–’

  ‘–Jord.’ A pause. Rustling fabric, like she’d cupped the mouthpiece. ‘We’re… out. At the clinic. Your father’s hip started giving him pain again.’

  He froze. Liar. Dad’s hip hadn’t troubled him since the surgery. ‘Which clinic? I’ll come–’

  ‘No!’ The word cracked. A muffled exhale. ‘They’re – they’re discharging him now. We’ll be home by half-ten.’

  ‘Mum–’

  ‘Jord.’ Her tone hardened, the one she’d used when he’d tracked mud through the kitchen as a boy. ‘Don’t fuss. It’s sorted.’

  Static hissed between them. Beneath it, a distant clang – metal on stone. Not a clinic. A warehouse echo.

  ‘Put Dad on,’ he demanded.

  ‘He’s… resting. He can’t talk.’

  ‘Then Elia. Where’s Elia?’

  A beat. ‘With us.’

  Another fact that expanded the discrepancy. Elia hated clinics; He never quite got over the fear of needles.

  ‘Mum. Where are you really?’

  The line died.

  Jord’s chest tightened – he felt his heart in his throat. The world he felt, slowly but surely, started to tilt on the wrong axis.

  He started pacing in circles, forcing himself to slow his breathing, to think. He needed answers. What could have happened?

  His mind raced. Is it because of me? The doubt slithered up his body like a viper coiling from his legs to his throat. Velmarian forces? No – I'm just a lowly recruit. Their ministry system probably hasn’t even registered me as of yet. So, probably not that.

  The Black Hand? No chance – he’d cut ties with them as a teen. Vliklian? Unlikely. The man was a petty bastard, but would he push things this far over a petty squabble that happened so long ago? Doubtful.

  His thoughts hit a wall. No clear answer presented itself. Then what the hell happened? She lying, and they are all together.

  He exhaled, emptying his lungs of air. I’m part of the state apparatus. He thought, then, to reassure himself, he openly said it. It worked, he continued. ‘I’m not alone in this.’

  With trembling fingers, he dialled Lapo's number.

  ‘Yes, Whittaker?’

  Jord spilled everything – the empty house, his mother's strange response, his churning suspicions.

  Lapo wasted no time. He had the department of investigations track the last call made from Jord’s phone. The location traced back to a warehouse on Industriante Street. It belonged to a company named Pallisade Holdings notorious for hoarding derelict properties.

  Lapo assembled a task force and asked Jord if he wanted to observe the operation. Jord immediately accepted.

  The night air hit his face as he slipped out, each shadow on Thamburg's streets now a potential watcher. He stuck to the smaller roads, avoiding the main thoroughfares.

  The building where Lapo’s squad was perched turned out to be a small half-abandoned office block, its windows dark except for a single light on the second floor that could not be seen from outside.

  Lapo was waiting by the rear entrance, accompanied by another figure Jord didn't recognise. Their body armour was matte black, without the usual military insignia that the guard sported. Lapo silenced him with a gesture, cutting off the questions on Jord’s tongue, and led him inside.

  ‘Your first lesson in the work, Whittaker,’ Lapo said. ‘The job doesn’t care about your nerves. Either you act, or you watch someone else do it for you. So, what’s your choice?’

  Jord frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘That time is running out, Whittaker. That if you do not act, others will. And their choices might not be in your best interest.’

  That made Jord’s thoughts scratched to a halt. His face, mirroring his mind, became blank.

  Then, a sentence took shape in his chest, gathering force with every breath. When he spoke, the certainty in his voice startled even him: ‘What’s to be done?’

  Lapo and the others exchanged glances before nodding, acknowledging the resolve now set in Jord’s face.

  ‘First,’ Lapo said. ‘Intel. We need more of it. Where do your folks work?’

  ‘Textile mill. Pryor and Sons.’

  Lapo frowned as he thumbed on his tablet. ‘Seems your folks got implicated in a hotspot for contraband.’

  ‘What… how?’ Jord’s breath caught. His mind wandered, but the confirmation of his darker thoughts made it real. Tangible.

  ‘The warehouse is leased to a company that works with Pryor and Sons and others like them. From what I’m seeing, the entity is a front to move contraband. We had no direct link – until now.’

  Lapo glanced at the warehouse, then back at Jord. ‘We’ve been tracking a smuggling operation. Goods, military grade, ammunitions that can pierce our grade of plate with easy, grenades.’ He paused, weighing his next words. ‘Tonight was supposed to be an operation against a freign coming from Lavitii. We were supposed to hit another warehouse, but your call changed things.’

  'But why take my whole family?’ Jord’s hands clenched into fists.

  Lapo rubbed his chin. ‘You don't grab an entire family just to send a message. That’s too messy and draws too much attention. No...’ He glanced at the warehouse. ‘They’re trying to figure out what your family saw exactly, who they might have told. Bribery only works if you know what you’re buying silence about.’

  ‘And Elia?’ Jord pressed.

  ‘Smart kid, your brother, isn’t he?’ Lapo's expression darkened. ‘Maybe they're worried he was called and saw something. Technical stuff that would’ve gone over your parents’ heads.’

  'Listen, Whittaker,' Lapo leaned closer. ‘People vanish. One day they’re here, next day there’s just whispers. No bodies and no evidence. Just empty houses.’

  He checked his watch before continuing. ‘Right now, your family’s alive because these people need to know what they saw and who they might have told. Once they have those answers...' He let the implication hang in the air.

  ‘But surely they wouldn’t–’

  ‘Three months ago,’ Lapo cut in, ‘a dock worker and his wife disappeared. We believe that a container got mistakenly opened, and inside, they found contraband. They panicked, ran to their foreman – thought they were doing the right thing.’ His jaw tightened. ‘Two weeks later, they vanished. Their teenage son, too. Some say they left town. Others say they got an offer they couldn’t refuse. And when I say “they” I mean me – I’ve been collecting what little washes up at the docks.’

  Jord swallowed, but stubborn hope refused to flee. ‘We don’t even know if it’s the same group.’

  ’Lapo’s gaze pinned him in place. ‘Met one crime syndicate, met them all. You willing to bet your family’s lives on the difference?’

  ‘No.’ Jord’s legs trembled as he slumped against the wall, the night’s revelations pressing down on him as if he had been thrust ten thousand leagues under the sea, desperate to gasp for air yet unable to draw a single flimsy breath.