The narrow, decaying hallway swallowed Ryan Cross’s ragged sobs. He curled against the damp concrete wall, hands clamped over his ears as if he could shut out the panic clawing its way through his chest.
Guilt, suffocating dread, and sheer helplessness had broken him.
Ethan Kane stood over him, his own chest tightening with a suffocating weight. They had gone to the Nightharvest for one reason: their Lumcore supply was completely spent. Tonight, they had nothing to keep the dark at bay.
And the sun would set in less than four hours.
Even for someone as quick on his feet as Ethan, pulling enough coins out of thin air to buy another Lumcore in four hours was a flat impossibility.
"Who took it?"
The silence stretched for ten agonizing seconds before Ethan spoke, his voice dangerously hollow. In their current reality, he could see only one path to survival.
They had to take it back.
"Th-Threefold District..." Ryan choked out, wiping a mix of sweat and tears from his face. "Warren Calloway. And Hayes."
The Calloway brothers. They were old acquaintances, in the worst way possible.
A few years older than Ethan, they were also orphans, scraping by at the very bottom of the city’s food chain by scavenging through the trash heaps. There had been clashes between them in the past—petty turf wars over scrap metal and half-rotten food. Back then, when survival wasn't balanced on a knife's edge, those fights had been nothing more than minor brawls.
But the rules had changed.
Lumcore prices had skyrocketed, and the Calloways wanted to live just as badly as anyone else. For them, robbing a terrified Ryan was infinitely safer than stepping into the meat grinder of a Nightharvest.
When the price of light went up, everyone’s survival instinct kicked in, but their methods diverged. Ethan had chosen to throw himself into the jaws of extreme danger for a high payoff. The Calloways had chosen to prey on those weaker than themselves.
"Go inside and wait for me," Ethan said, his voice flat as he straightened his spine.
"E-Ethan, what are you going to do?" Ryan’s voice was hoarse, his eyes wide with terror.
"If I'm not back in an hour, take Chloe and get to the Westside Processing Plant." Ethan let out a slow, deliberate breath, trying to steady his racing pulse.
"Why there?" Ryan’s eyes red and swollen. "Ethan, are you going after Warren?"
"The processing plant is another assembly point for the Nightharvest. I met someone yesterday who told me tonight's run over there is safe."
It was the only contingency Ethan had.
He would confront the Calloways alone, but he wasn’t stupid. The brothers were older, broader, and significantly stronger. If he failed to retrieve the Lumcore, leaving Ryan and Chloe in their basement apartment was a death sentence. At least at the Nightharvest, they would have a fighting chance at making it through the night.
If Flint Voss’s intel was solid, they might actually survive the night and earn enough to buy their own core.
And if things went south with the Calloways... Ethan would make damn sure he died on their doorstep, close enough to steal their light as he went under.
"Ryan, if I don't make it back, you're the oldest now. Take care of Chloe."
Without waiting for a reply, Ethan turned and strode down the dim corridor. The sun wasn't going to wait for them to finish crying.
Stepping out of the basement, the afternoon sun hit Ethan's skin with a blinding glare, fueling a sudden, raw irritation. The anxiety he had managed to keep under lock and key was beginning to fray. He brushed it off. Anyone facing the prospect of being consumed by the dark before morning would be on edge.
Shielding his eyes, Ethan set off at a steady jog toward the Threefold District.
"Damn, these buns are good."
Hayes Calloway spoke through a mouth crammed with pork and grease. Standing at roughly six feet with a harsh buzz cut, he held a grease-stained plastic bag, steam still rising from the remaining buns inside.
Warren Calloway, identical in height but leaner, chewed slowly. He wasn't sharing his brother’s simple-minded joy. Instead, his eyes were locked on a glowing cube resting in his palm—a Primal Lumcore.
"What are you staring at?" Hayes asked, swallowing hard. "You think it’s a fake?"
"How the hell do you fake a Lumcore?" Warren snapped, pocketing the cube. He leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Ryan said Ethan made seven hundred coins at the Nightharvest last night."
Hayes froze, a half-eaten bun halfway to his mouth. "What’s your point? Don't tell me you want to go out there. If you want to commit suicide, count me out."
Warren scowled. "Nobody asked you to go. You can stay here and starve for all I care. Keep eating."
"Come on, it's not about being chicken," Hayes muttered, defensive. "Think about it. The Nightharvest is a death trap, and even if you survive, you have to work your ass off all night. Why bother when we can just take what we need?"
"And how long do you think that's going to work?" Warren’s eyes drifted toward the grimy window. "We robbed Ryan today. Do you think he'll survive the night without this? By tomorrow, who do we rob? There's only so many weaklings in the Threefold District."
"We'll find someone else," Hayes shrugged, stuffing another bun into his mouth. "Plenty of useless trash around here."
"If you rob enough of them, they die off," Warren said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. "Around here, there are plenty of people stronger than us. But those weaker than us are running thin."
Hayes paused, squinting at his brother. "You've already decided, haven't you? You want to try the harvest."
Warren didn't answer. He was torn.
What had sparked the idea was Ryan’s desperate plea during the robbery—the kid had babbled something about Ethan finding a way to make the Nightharvest safe. If Ethan really had a trick to guarantee survival, the harvest wasn't a death sentence anymore. It was a goldmine. A stable way to live, rather than scraping by day-to-day.
"I'll think about it," Warren muttered, unable to make a definitive call. They had a working Lumcore now; they had at least six days of safety to figure things out. People rarely made drastic decisions until they were pushed to the absolute edge.
Suddenly, Warren looked down and realized the bag of ten buns was nearly empty. "You greedy bastard, leave some for me!"
Hayes was already reaching for another one. He offered a sheepish grin and handed the bag over. "Hey, I was just keeping them warm."
Warren snatched the bag with a glare, but before he could take a bite, a sharp, rhythmic knock rattled the wooden door.
The brothers instantly locked eyes. The casual atmosphere vanished, replaced by tense, defensive stillness.
"Who is it?" Warren called out, his voice dropping an octave.
"Ethan Kane." The reply from the hallway was cold, steady, and entirely devoid of fear.
"Well, look at that. The bastard actually came," Hayes sneered, patting his bloated stomach as he stood up. He walked toward the door with an arrogant swagger. He had never lost a fight to Ethan, and he wasn't about to start fearing him now. If they had been afraid of the kid, they wouldn't have targeted Ryan in the first place.
Warren didn't stop him. He simply sat back, slowly chewing on a bun as his brother unlocked the door.
The moment the door swung open, the rich scent of steamed pork hit Ethan’s nose. A spark of pure, hot fury flared in his chest.
Ryan had bought those buns. It was their money. Right now, the three of them should have been sitting in their basement, sharing a rare, decent meal.
Warren took a slow bite of his bun, raising an eyebrow at Ethan with blatant, silent provocation.
"The food is yours," Ethan said, forcing his voice to remain flat, keeping his hands loose at his sides. "Just give me the Lumcore. Without it, we won't make it through the night."
Hayes let out a barking laugh, blocking the doorway with his broad frame. "Whether you live or die isn't really our problem, is it?" He reached onto a nearby shelf, picking up a folding knife and flicking the blade open, waving it lazily in front of Ethan's face.
"Put that away," Warren commanded from the table, cuting off his brother's chest-thumping. "Let him in. I have a question for him."
"You heard my brother. Get in here." Hayes grabbed Ethan by the collar, dragging him into the room before slamming the door shut.
Ethan stumbled forward, his stomach sinking. Hayes’s grip was like iron. Even a simple tug was enough to throw Ethan off balance. Years of skipping meals to save coins for Lumcores had left him stunted, his body thin and underdeveloped compared to the Calloways, who had always taken what they wanted.
"Look, we've had our differences, but we basically grew up together," Warren said, tossing the last pork bun onto the table toward Ethan. He smiled, though his eyes remained cold. "I'm going to offer you a way out. Interested?"
Before Ethan could speak, Warren laid out his terms.
"You go to the Nightharvest at night. My brother and I protect you during the day. What do you say? Fair deal, right?"
"You're a smart kid, Ethan. You know you don't have many options here," Warren said, leaning back. He wasn't rushing him. He knew Ethan was the one running out of time.
"You don't have a Lumcore, so you're dead tonight. We’re in the same boat. If one of us has to die, I'd rather it be you. So if you came here expecting me to just hand it back out of the goodness of my heart, you're dumber than you look." Warren scoffed. "And if you think you can fight the two of us and take it back by force... well, let's be realistic."
Hayes chuckled, tracing the air near Ethan’s ribs with the knife, making wet stabbing noises. "Shhh-tup, shhh-tup! Ha!"
The mocking display made Ethan's blood boil, but he knew Warren was right. His options were virtually nonexistent.
"What about Ryan and Chloe?" Ethan asked, his voice tight.
"I don't play house," Warren said flatly. "I have no intention of feeding two useless mouth-breathers. I'm talking to you because you can make us money. What can they do?"
Ethan’s jaw clenched. He took three deep, slow breaths, forcing the anger down into a cold, hard knot in his stomach.
"I'll do the Nightharvest," Ethan said.
The brothers' eyes lit up instantly.
"But I have conditions," Ethan added quickly.
"Let's hear them," Warren said, raising a hand to silence Hayes, who was already gearing up to curse. Hayes grumbled but subsided.
"I will go to the Nightharvest every single night," Ethan said, looking Warren dead in the eye. "But Ryan and Chloe must be kept safe. No exceptions."
Warren’s expression darkened, but Ethan pushed on, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "They are my bottom line. You want this deal because you know robbing people isn't a long-term strategy. You want to exploit the Nightharvest, and you saw exactly how much I brought back yesterday."
Ethan stepped closer. "I have a way to make the harvest safe. If I keep going, the cost of feeding them is pocket change to you. We just want to live. You decide how the profits are split. Warren, we're all just trying to survive. There's no need to push me into a corner where I have nothing left to lose."
Ethan squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white, holding Warren's gaze.
Warren didn't answer immediately. He was calculating.
He was incredibly tempted. Ethan was right—Ryan and Chloe’s survival didn't matter. What mattered was securing a steady stream of income. If Ethan went to the harvest for them, they would not only survive, they would live like kings compared to the rest of the slums.
"Fine," Warren said, a sharp smile breaking across his face. "You can bring them here. Just don't complain about the mess."
The Calloways' apartment was just as cramped as Ethan's, only far filthier, littered with scraps of garbage and half-rotted food.
"One more thing," Ethan said, his face expressionless. "For tonight’s harvest, Hayes comes with me."
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Hayes roared, lunging forward. "You want to drag me into that meat grinder with you?"
This time, Warren didn't stop his brother. He stared at Ethan, his eyes filled with cold suspicion. "Ethan, aren't you pushing your luck a bit too far?"
"This is my final condition," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a low, hard register. "I don't trust you."
"So you want my brother as a hostage?" Warren sneered. "You think highly of yourself, don't you?"
Ethan didn't argue. He stood his ground, silent, staring back at Warren with a dead-eyed gaze that spoke louder than any threat.
Warren's brow furrowed. He realized Ethan was dead serious. Agree, or the deal is off. And what irritated Warren most was that he really didn't want to let this golden goose go. Finding someone willing to go to the Nightharvest and hand over the profits was a miracle.
"You're about to lose your life, and you're trying to play tough with us?" Hayes snarled, grabbing Ethan's collar again.
"You're right. I have no way out," Ethan said, looking up into Hayes's eyes. "And because I have nothing left to lose, I'm not afraid of you." He pointed a finger at the knife in Hayes's hand. "If you're going to stab me, do it now. Stop making noises with your mouth and just put it in my chest."
Hayes’s face flushed with fury, his arm tensing.
"Enough!" Warren barked, pulling Hayes back. He looked at Ethan, his expression grim. "I get your concern. But he's not going with you. I am."
"But Warren—"
"Shut up. We'll talk after he leaves," Warren snapped. He didn't bother hiding his intentions; even an idiot knew the brothers would have a private conversation the moment Ethan walked out.
"I'll go to the Nightharvest with you, and Hayes will stay here to look after your little family. Does that make you feel safer, Ethan?" Warren asked with a mock-polite smile.
"Deal." Ethan turned to Hayes. "If you lay a finger on them, the deal is dead."
"Who the hell do you think you're threatening?"
"Hayes!" Warren growled. "You're going to sleep tonight and do nothing else. Understood?"
Hayes glared at the floor, fuming for several seconds before giving a stiff, reluctant nod. "Fine."
"Satisfied?" Warren asked, turning back to Ethan.
Ethan checked the light outside. "I'll go get them now."
He slipped out the door and sprinted back to his apartment. If he delayed any longer, Ryan would have already dragged Chloe to the processing plant.
Once Ethan left, Hayes immediately demanded to know why Warren had agreed to the terms.
"If I don't go, Ethan will always have leverage over us," Warren explained, his voice cold. "I'm going to see exactly what this 'safe' method of his is. If it's real, we won't even need him anymore. We can run the harvest ourselves."
"But what if the bastard is setting a trap?" Hayes muttered, eyes shifting. "What if he tries to get you killed?"
"He wouldn't dare. Not with those two kids in your hands," Warren smiled, a cruel, vicious expression. "Besides, we'll have the Duskwardens protecting us out there. I'll be fine."
A short while later, Ethan returned with Ryan and Chloe.
On the way over, Ethan had laid out the situation. Ryan was so terrified of the Calloway brothers that he couldn't even summon the courage to look them in the eye. The moment they entered the apartment, Ryan dragged Chloe to the darkest corner and curled up, trembling.
Ethan didn't say much to them. The assembly time was drawing near, and he had to move. He and Warren quickly departed, heading toward the Westside Processing Plant.
It was Warren’s first time at an assembly point, and like Ethan on his first night, he couldn't help but look around in wary curiosity. Ethan did his best to whisper advice, pointing out how things worked.
When the Duskwardens arrived, Ethan smoothly blended into the queue. Warren, determined to keep a close eye on him, pressed tightly behind him in line.
"First-time harvesters, step out of the line!" one of the Duskwardens barked, repeating the exact same protocol from the night before.
Warren hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped out of the queue, moving toward the designated area.
What Warren didn't notice was the sudden, freezing chill that swept through Ethan's eyes the moment he stepped away.
Nor did Warren know the man standing directly in front of Ethan in the queue.
Ethan leaned forward, his voice a barely audible whisper against the wind.
"Flint."
Flint Voss didn't turn around, but his shoulders stiffened slightly.
"I'll join the Harvesters' Union," Ethan whispered, his voice trembling with a desperate, dark resolve. "But I need a favor. If you help me with this... I'll give the Union sixty percent of my earnings from now on. No—seventy percent."