“What’s it do?” she asks.

My words turn eager. “I’m trying to get it as close to a perpetual energy machine as possible. See this battery? It’s double the efficiency of the battery that runs my Sky Floor home and ten times as powerful, so I’m going to retrofit it onto a drone, and it’ll shoot the whole thing forward up to two hundred miles per hour—”

She looks at me skeptically. “Get outta here.”

“Numbers don’t lie. If it works like I think it will, I’ll design a bigger version to help power buildings in the Republic.”

“Already getting ahead of your internship, aren’t you?” She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head at me. “You and that bleeding heart of yours.”

“You’re the one willing to risk your life for your dad.”

She shoves me, and I laugh at her. Then she gives me a questioning look. “Won’t you risk losing your internship if you’re caught racing down here?” she says. “Your brother’s gonna kill you if he finds out what you’re planning, you know.”

Daniel. The mention of him clouds my temporary good mood. “He’s not going to know,” I say with a shrug. “Even if he did, he’s not going to be able to stop me.”

Pressa and I stop in front of a tiny shop crowded with people. She raises an eyebrow at me. “Listen, I’m serious. Your brother’s an AIS agent. That’s not nothing. If he tracks you down at a race, he might bring other agents with him and arrest people left and right. I can’t afford that kind of hit.”

“He’s not going to stop us,” I reply firmly. “Now stop worrying about him, and start fantasizing about what you’ll do with a hundred thousand corras when we win.”

Pressa searches my gaze, then decides against arguing. “If we win,” she says.

“When,” I insist again.

She grins at me, then looks back at the crowd as everyone pushes toward the front of the shop. Here, there are no virtual overlays. It’s too dangerous to run drone races on the Level system. So at the front of the shop stands a tall man so lanky that he looks like a moving skeleton. He’s taking cash bets from people and writing them down on paper.

Pressa has no qualms about waiting around patiently in line. She shoves her way forward just like everyone else, snapping at people who are putting in their bets too slowly. Finally, she gets to the front and takes out a wad of cash from her jacket.

She shoves it at the tall man. “A thousand corras,” she says to him, then nods at me. “On this guy.”

The man eyes me skeptically. “Who the hell are you?” he grunts.

I swallow, then raise my voice to match Pressa’s confidence. “I’d like to enter as a racer,” I say.

A look of amusement crosses the man’s face. He somehow has the grace not to laugh at me. Instead, he just shrugs and jots down a note in his book. “You got a drone ready?” he says.

“It’ll be ready by the time the race happens.” I take a deep breath.

He doesn’t ask for more info. If I can’t follow through, we’ll be the only ones who lose money, anyway. He pockets Pressa’s wad of cash and nods at me. “You’re in,” he says. Then he loses interest in us and waves at the crowd behind us. “Next.”

We both step out of line as the people behind us push forward. Judging by how many bettors there are, this is going to be a big race.

When we manage to get out of the throngs near the shop and head back the way we came, Pressa nods at me. “I’ll be at the race tonight about half an hour before it starts,” she says. “You can’t be late, all right? My money’s on you, and if you’re late, they’ll start without—”

“Have I ever been late to a hangout with you?” I reply.

She smiles a little at that, then steps closer to me. Her hand brushes my arm. “No,” she replies. “And I expect you to keep it that way.”

I put both hands over my heart and flutter my lashes once at her. “You know I love you,” I reply.

She rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t waver. “I gotta go help my dad at the shop. See you later, skyboy.”

I watch Pressa go. The hairs on my arm where her hand touched me stand on end, making my skin tingle. Somehow, it’s easy to lose track of time when I’m with her.

It’s late afternoon already, and with the heavier foot traffic down the narrow street, I can tell that workers here are on a break between shifts. The food markets are crammed with people, all busy wolfing down a bite of burger or pastry or sandwich before rushing off to their next jobs. I shove my hands in my pockets, already lonely without Pressa’s company, and start heading back toward the nearest station, where an elevator will take me back up to the higher floors.

Wandering around the Undercity as a skyboy would be a scandal if word of it got out beyond Pressa and Daniel. The university could expel me and strip me of my degree. The government might even confiscate my passport, making me lose my internship in the Republic.

Still, I can’t help myself. If only I could feel this comfortable up in the Sky Floors.

I make my way through the throngs until I decide to take a shortcut through an alley. The instant I turn into the alley, though, I know I’ve made a mistake.

Someone is standing at the opposite end of the narrow path. When he sees me coming, he straightens and starts walking in my direction.

Behind me echo footsteps. I keep my head down and continue walking, but a sixth sense tells me that someone has noticed me. Maybe it’s because I don’t walk like everyone else down here. Maybe it’s something in the clothes I’m wearing.

As the man reaches me, he casts me a quick glance. Then his eyes dart to the space right over my shoulder.

It’s all I need to see.

Thieves.

I suddenly break into a run. The man beside me stiffens in surprise, then whistles to his partner to go after me. His footsteps pound the pavement behind me. I don’t look back. I just keep going.

But he’s too fast for me. One second, I’m nearly to the end of the alley. The next, a rough hand grabs me by the collar and sends me flying backward. My back slams hard against the wall, and then there’s a hard blade pressed against the skin of my throat. I find myself staring into a pair of hard eyes.

“Well,” he says, smiling as his friend saunters up beside him. “Got us a skyboy.”

I try to struggle, but the man’s got at least fifty pounds on me. A buzzing sound of panic seeps into my thoughts. I have to get out of here.

That’s when I hear his voice.

“One more time. I dare you.”

It comes, as it usually does, from somewhere up high, echoing against the alley walls. I turn my head up. He’s perched on a second-floor balcony. One of his legs is dangling idly over the edge, and the crisp black shirt he’s wearing under his black suit is lazily buttoned, the collar half up and half down. His blond hair is short and disorderly.

It’s my brother. Daniel. His eyes are trained on my attackers. And right now, the smirk on his lips is the dangerous kind.

I groan and hang my head. Oh, hell.

DANIEL

 

The would-be thieves don’t wait around.