Chapter 3 — The Tunnel's Weight

Milo

The tunnel stretched ahead of Milo, dim and endless, its only illumination the harsh glow of utility lights spaced too far apart. The air was thick with the scent of oil, damp concrete, and rust, a cocktail so familiar it barely registered anymore. Under his boots, the low, rhythmic vibration of a passing train echoed faintly, a reminder of the city pulsing above.

Milo adjusted his tool belt, the leather creaking softly as he knelt to inspect a section of track. Its weight rested against his hips with a quiet insistence, grounding him as he worked. A fine layer of grit clung stubbornly to his hands, even through his gloves, which he’d discarded earlier for better dexterity. The flashlight beam flickered across the steel rails, catching on a faint hairline crack near one of the joints. He let out a low grunt, running his fingers along the crack’s sharp edge. It was small but could become disastrous if ignored—one weak point threatening to unravel the whole system. He tightened his jaw as the thought lingered, uncomfortably close to home.

“Still alive back there, Aster?”

The familiar voice snapped him out of his inspection. Milo turned to see Frank leaning lazily against a support beam, arms crossed and his signature grin in place. Frank always looked like he’d rolled out of bed straight into the tunnel—shirt wrinkled, grease smudged across his cheek, and his ball cap permanently tilted. But his casual demeanor belied his skill. There was no one Milo trusted more on the crew.

“Barely,” Milo replied, his voice low and gravelly, worn thin by the day’s shift.

Frank ambled closer, hands in his pockets. “You know, normal guys in your position sit back and let rookies do the dirty work. But you? You dive headfirst into the filth like it’s a goddamn hobby.”

Milo didn’t look up, his flashlight steady on the crack as he pulled a wrench from his belt. “Comfort doesn’t keep the trains running.” He tightened a bolt near the joint experimentally, his brow furrowing at the faint give. Each motion felt deliberate, almost meditative, but slower than it should have been. His shoulders ached with the effort.

“Yeah, well, dying in a tunnel doesn’t keep ‘em running either.” Frank crouched beside him, the teasing tone in his voice fading to something quieter. “You look like hell, man. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I’m fine.”

Frank let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Y’know, for a guy who spends his life fixing things, you sure as hell can’t see when something’s about to break. If you keep pushing, one day it’s gonna be you that cracks, not the track.”

Milo’s shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on the wrench. A sharp pang flared in his chest, fleeting but enough to make him pause. He set the wrench down, willing his breathing to steady. “The track won’t wait. Three more sections to check tonight.”

Frank leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Look, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it, fine. But don’t think I don’t notice you reaching for those pills every time your chest gives you trouble. Whatever’s going on, you need to take it seriously. This isn’t just about you—it’s about the people depending on you.”

Milo didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he focused on the crack before him, the way the light skittered across its surface. He hated how Frank could see through him, hated how the concern felt like a weight he hadn’t asked for. He stood slowly, the creak of his knees betraying him. “We’ve got work to do.”

Frank sighed, levering himself to his feet. “Fine. Be a stubborn bastard. But if you keel over, don’t think I’m dragging your heavy ass out of here.”

A faint ghost of a smile tugged at Milo’s mouth. “Noted.”

They worked in silence for a while, the clang of tools and the hiss of steam filling the air. Milo’s hands moved with practiced precision, though the steady rhythm of the work did little to drown out the thoughts slipping through the cracks in his focus.

Lily’s face surfaced, unbidden. Not the teenager she was now, but the little girl she used to be—her curly hair wild and her laughter bright as sunshine. He could still feel her small hand wrapped around his fingers, remember the way her giggle would bubble out when he hoisted her onto his shoulders to play “subway train.” He used to show her the tunnels, the places where he worked, even though her mother always scolded him for it. Lily had loved it, though. She’d grinned wide and called him “Daddy the Fixer,” her voice full of the kind of adoration that made him feel invincible.

Those days felt like a lifetime ago. The laughter had faded over the years, replaced by silence and then anger. He didn’t blame her for it. Not really. He knew he’d failed her, knew the distance that grew between them was as much his doing as hers. But the ache of her absence sat deep, a hollow space that no amount of labor could fill.

“Yo.”

Frank’s voice snapped him back to the present. Milo blinked, realizing he’d been staring at the same bolt for too long.

“You good?” Frank asked, studying him with a frown.

“Yeah,” Milo muttered, his voice clipped. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” Frank quipped, though his gaze lingered for a moment before he turned toward the next section. “Come on. Let’s finish up before the next train makes us part of the track.”

Milo nodded, falling into step beside him. The weight of his tool belt pulled at his hips with every step, its familiar heft grounding him in the present. But even as they reached the next section of track, his thoughts drifted again—not to Lily this time, but to the pharmacy.

To Cora.

The memory of her green eyes, calm but piercing, lingered. She’d looked at him like she could see the parts of him he worked so hard to hide. That quiet kindness in her voice had cut through him in a way he hadn’t expected, leaving him unsettled. Most people didn’t notice him beyond the grease-streaked clothes and the calloused hands. But she had.

“Earth to Milo.”

Frank’s voice broke through his thoughts again. Milo realized he’d been holding the same bolt in place without moving.

“Distracted tonight, huh?” Frank leaned against a support beam, his grin faint but steady. “Must be something interesting rattling around in that head of yours.”

“Just tired,” Milo muttered, tightening the bolt with more force than necessary.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of aching muscles and the steady rhythm of work. By the time they climbed the stairs out of the tunnel, Milo’s legs felt like lead. Aboveground, the night air hit like a cold slap, sharp and bracing after the stifling heat below.

Frank clapped him on the back as they parted ways. “Get some rest, old man. And maybe—just maybe—let someone help you once in a while.”

Milo grunted, watching Frank retreat into the shadows of the street. He turned toward his own car, the city’s lights casting long, quiet shadows around him.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand brushed against the small bottle of pills in his pocket. He pulled it out, turning it over in his hand. The label glinted faintly under the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

Take one daily.

Cora’s voice echoed in his memory, soft but insistent. “Take care of yourself.”

He sighed, slipping the bottle back into his pocket. The words carried a weight he wasn’t sure how to hold. For now, the only weight he could manage was the tool belt sitting on the passenger seat.

The tunnel’s weight stayed with him, even as he drove away.