Chapter 1 — Ripples in the Void

Ivy Lennox

The air in the Suppressed District always felt heavier at night, clinging to Ivy’s skin like an unwelcome second layer of grime. It carried the acrid bite of industrial fumes and something weightier—an oppressive stillness that pressed against her ears, her chest, her thoughts. Above, the dim, flickering streetlamps cast fractured halos onto the cracked pavement, while surveillance drones hummed in their ceaseless patrol. Their mechanical eyes swept the streets like predatory birds, keen to catch even the faintest flicker of deviation.

Ivy walked with measured steps, her wiry frame shrouded in the folds of her tattered jacket. The hood concealed her unruly auburn hair, and her boots barely whispered against the ground. In her world, invisibility was survival. She clutched the satchel slung across her body, the weight of its contents grounding her: a cracked leather-bound book and a chipped music disc. Relics of a forgotten humanity, their very existence a quiet act of rebellion.

Ahead, a man trudged forward, his face slack with the indifference that defined the Suppressed. His implant’s dominance was all too clear in his vacant gaze, one foot plodding before the other with mechanical precision. He didn’t notice her. No one noticed anyone here—not unless they wanted trouble. Ivy kept her head low, her green eyes sharp beneath the shadow of her hood.

Her destination wasn’t far now, marked by a rusted door between two crumbling apartment buildings. A faint, red-painted X told her she was in the right place. She scanned her surroundings, her senses tuned to every movement. A faint light buzzed above her, and she froze. The drone’s hum swelled, its spotlight sweeping closer. Her heart leapt.

Sliding into the shadows of a narrow alley, Ivy pressed herself against the wall, her breath locked in her throat. The spotlight passed incrementally, brushing the pavement just inches from her boots. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be still, to be nothing. Then, as abruptly as it came, the light drifted onward, the hum fading into the distance.

She exhaled shakily, the sound barely audible over the ringing in her ears. She couldn’t slip up again. They were watching—always watching.

Approaching the marked door, she rapped twice in a coded rhythm. The latch clicked, and she slipped inside, greeted by the dim glow of a single bulb overhead. The trader perched behind a battered counter, her wiry hair tied in a faded scarf. Layers of worn fabric swathed her thin frame, but her eyes—sharp and piercing—missed nothing.

“You’re late,” the woman muttered, her voice like sandpaper.

Ivy shrugged, keeping her movements subtle. “Had to avoid detection. This is what I’ve got,” she said, unfastening the satchel and revealing its contents. The book’s cracked spine and the gleaming surface of the disc caught the light as she placed them on the counter.

The woman reached out with steady, calloused hands. Her fingers traced the book’s worn edges before flipping it open. Something softened in her expression—just slightly—as she murmured, “Poetry.” Her voice held an ache, a ghost of something long suppressed.

Ivy said nothing, her fingers twitching restlessly in her pocket.

The woman turned her attention to the disc, holding it up to the dim light. “And this?”

“Music,” Ivy replied. “Classical. A symphony.”

The trader nodded, withdrawing a small bundle wrapped in cloth from beneath the counter. Inside: ration bars, gauze, and a tiny vial of painkillers. It wasn’t much, but Ivy accepted it with a terse nod, throat tightening. Enough, she told herself. Enough to keep going.

“Be careful out there, girl,” the woman said softly.

Ivy glanced back, catching a flicker of something—regret? Memory?—in the trader’s gaze. She gave a quiet nod and stepped back into the night.

The streets were quieter now, but the quiet carried no comfort. It hummed with latent tension, the kind that settled before a storm. Ivy stuck to the alleyways, her senses sharp, her gift coiled inside her like a live wire. She hated how it felt—volatile, unpredictable. Dangerous.

A muffled cry stopped her short.

She froze, her breath catching as she peered around the corner. There, in a narrow courtyard, a young girl knelt on the ground. Her small hands trembled as she tried to gather the spilled contents of a crude ration bag: half a loaf of stale bread and a dented tin of soup. Scraped knees glistened red under the dim light, blood stark against the gray world. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Walk away, Ivy’s mind urged. You can’t help her. The risk— Too high.

But the girl’s trembling form rooted her to the spot. Logic screamed at her to turn, to disappear into the shadows. And still, something deeper pushed her forward.

“Here,” she said softly, kneeling beside the girl. The child flinched, eyes wide with fear as they locked onto Ivy’s. The girl didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

“It’s okay,” Ivy said, her voice low, steady. She reached for the bread, the tin, placing them carefully back into the bag. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl’s wary gaze remained fixed on Ivy, but in its depths, something shifted. A flicker of light in the void.

Hope.

Ivy’s throat tightened. “Are you hurt?” she asked, nodding at the girl’s scraped knees.

The girl shook her head, lips pressed together. Still trembling.

Ivy pulled the roll of gauze from her satchel, tearing off a strip. Her hands worked quickly, gently wrapping the worst of the scrapes. As she tied off the bandage, she murmured, “There. That’ll help.”

The girl opened her mouth as if to speak—but the words never came.

Because that was when Ivy felt it.

The ripple.

It began in her chest, a sharp, electric pulse that spread outward, searing through her nerves. The air around her seemed to shudder, crackling faintly, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Her gift surged, wild and uncontrollable, spilling into the courtyard like a tidal wave.

The girl gasped. Tears spilled down her cheeks, unbidden, as her small hands clawed at her chest. Nearby, a man leaning against a wall staggered, his eyes darting in wild confusion. A woman froze mid-step, her hand flying to her throat as if it constricted under an invisible weight. All around her, the suppressed began to stir—half-formed emotions clawing their way to the surface.

No. No, no, no.

Ivy scrambled to her feet, panic coursing through her veins. She had to—

A drone’s buzz pierced the air. Then another. Its spotlight swept the courtyard, locking onto her before she could move.

The girl shrank back, clutching her ration bag with trembling hands.

Run, Ivy thought, her pulse roaring in her ears. She didn’t wait to see if the girl obeyed.

Her boots struck the pavement in a frantic rhythm, the drone’s relentless hum shadowing her every step. She darted into an alley, her breath ragged, her mind racing. More drones converged, their lights slicing through the darkness like knives. She risked a glance back—too close. Too fast.

A fire escape ladder loomed ahead. She leapt, her wiry frame catching the cold, rusted rungs. The metal bit into her palms as she climbed, the drones’ lights grazing her heels. She heaved herself onto the rooftop, heart pounding, lungs burning.

Below, the drones lingered, their spotlights sweeping the alleyways. For now, they didn’t ascend.

Ivy crouched low, pressing herself against the rooftop’s edge. Her trembling fingers clutched her knees as her mind replayed the last few minutes in brutal clarity. Stupid. Reckless. She’d exposed herself—and now, they knew.

Far below, the faint sound of the girl’s sobs carried through the courtyard. Ivy closed her eyes, guilt twisting in her chest like a knife.

I can’t stay here.

She opened her eyes, her green gaze sharpening with resolve. She’d made it this far. She wouldn’t let them take her now.

Pulling her hood tighter, Ivy melted into the shadows, disappearing into the night.