“Legion.”

Ianthe tasted the name on her lips for the thousandth time as she waited for the skycar to descend all the way back to the lower levels. She’d already looked him up on the CommNet and what she’d found shouldn’t have done anything but make her want to stay as far away from him as possible.

And yet, the memory of his hands was burned onto her skin.

The small window of their apartment was dark as the car hovered above the dirt. She wondered how long it took to clean off all the dust and grime that now coated the previously shiny surface. The slums left a stain on anyone who ventured there, except hers couldn’t be as easily washed away as mud would off the skycar.

“Thanks for the ride,” she murmured, voice heavy with sarcasm, before slamming the door shut behind her.

Circe had promised not to wait up, saying she wanted to be rested when the guardians showed up to tell her that Ianthe had been taken to detention. As much as the nagging annoyed her, she had to acknowledge that none of this would have worked without her sister’s help. Circe would have made an excellent chemist if she’d ever been given the chance at an education.

The thought of slipping into her bed made her give a deep sigh of relief.

And then promptly choke on it when she opened the door to find her brother, whipcord arms crossed over his chest, standing in the middle of the living room.

“Where have you been?”

“Eaon, why are you out of bed?” She pulled the door closed behind her, checking surreptitiously that none of their neighbors had wandered past. “It’s nearly morning.”

“Tell me where you were.”

She surveyed his too skinny body and noted with some dismay how shallowly his chest rose and fell with each harsh breath. “Did you go to the clinic for your breathing treatment today?”

“Stop it. I’m asking the questions.” He blocked her path when she tried to sweep past him. Though he was still a little small for his age from the sickness, her brother had always been fast. “I want to know where you’ve been.”

“Out,” she said shortly, so weary that there was no energy left to try to wheedle him.

“With who?”

“None of your business. Get out of the way, Eaon.”

“My friend Niko saw you get into the back of a skycar last night, windows all blacked up and everything. Who sent you a skycar? Where did you go?”

Heat suffused her cheeks as she stared into his belligerent face. Of all the people who might see her get into a skycar in the middle of the night, it had to be a friend of her little brother. “It’s not important and it won’t happen ever again. Please just let it go.”

She slipped past him but his voice stopped her before she could disappear into her bedroom.

“How did you pay for my breathing treatments, Ianthe? Where did the money come from?”

Without saying another word, Ianthe closed the door on the accusation in his face.

Circe was sitting at the kitchen table when Ianthe finally woke sometime in the mid-afternoon. She’d slept much later than she intended, her body too weary to rise any sooner.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this tired. And her body was sore and achy as if all the muscles had been pushed to their limits. It must have resulted from what Legion had put her through. Perhaps she’d fought his hold harder than she thought and now that adrenaline had worn off, her body was paying the price.

“Where’s Eaon?” she asked, grinding the palms of her hands against her eyes to kill a splitting headache.

Circe set down her cup of coffee with a light click. “He left early this morning. I assume he’s reported at the schoolhouse.”

Assumptions were dangerous things, but Ianthe shrugged away a sudden feeling of unease as she joined her sister at the table. “I feel terrible.”

“Well, you did take enough alterants to supply an apothecary for a year. What did you expect?” Circe pushed the terminal screen in front of her across the table. “I was checking rates for apartments on the middle levels. Take a look.”

Ianthe took the screen and stared down at the surface, figures dancing in front of her eyes as the room spun before slowly coming back into focus. When she was finally able to read the displayed figures, she experienced a nasty shock. “This can’t be right!”

She routinely checked the listings for modest homes on the middle levels. It partly served as wish fulfillment, but also as a reminder that a better life was still in reach for them.

Circe’s gaze was inscrutable, although the rapid drumming of her fingers against the table signaled her unease. “The prices have more than tripled.”

“There must be something wrong with this.” It wasn’t possible. That couldn’t be right. All of the things that she had done to ensure their future couldn’t have been for nothing. She flipped frantically through all the listings, organizing from lowest price to highest and back again, but the result remained the same.

She would have to endure a hundred more nights in Eros House for any chance at getting her family out of the slums.

Her hands shook as the screen clattered back to the table.

Circe picked up the terminal and placed it back in its dock. “It’s not all bad, you know.”

Ianthe gaped at her sister. “How is this not all bad?”

“So we’re stuck in the slums, we’ve managed this many years here already.” Her voice was heavy with resignation. “At least we can afford the rest of Eaon’s treatments, maybe even with enough left over for a year at the Academy.”

A keen sense of failure coursed through Ianthe at her sister’s words. She had failed them. It was her one responsibility to make sure that her family was taken care of and she couldn’t even accomplish that.

Her mind had already started the calculations of how much it would take for them to stand a chance…

“You’re not going back there,” Circe said, sternly. “Or if you do, you won’t be getting any more help from me. It’s too dangerous for you to be with an Alpha again.”

Ianthe squeezed her eyes shut at her sister’s very deliberate choice of words. “Be with? Do you mean fuck?”

I don’t fuck Betas. The words whispered through her mind, tempting her. This was the first time in her life that she had ever been tempted to reveal her dynamic, even for a moment.

“I’d prefer not to use that word, actually.” Circe sat up a little straighter as if visibly buttoning herself up. “Don’t you have to be at work soon?”

Painful resentment grew slowly inside of her like a rosebush made only of thorns. It wasn’t just the political types who looked down on Omegas, the rest of the population had similar ideas about what it meant to be part of the weakest dynamic: simple, naïve and easily led. She fought her nature not just because of what it required, but because to be Omega meant having the respect of absolutely no one.

Why did she have to sacrifice so much, only to gain so very little?

Ianthe pushed open the door of the cafeteria and even that small movement seemed to sap her of all energy. Her arms felt like weights at her sides and she wondered how she could possibly make it through her shift.

Miranda was standing by the counter with a terminal in her hands, a very stressed look on her face. “What are you doing here?”

Slipping an apron over her head, Ianthe frowned at the older woman. “Working, what else would I be doing?”

“Didn’t you receive word? There’s a hoity-toity party on the middle levels for some government types and we’re closing early to provide extra hands. You were supposed to be there an hour ago.”

She was already pulling the apron back over her head and tossing it aside. “I did not receive word. And my brother is likely to thank for that.”

“Well, you’ll be docked for every extra minute that you’re late, so I suggest you stop making excuses and get going.”

Ianthe wanted to tell the snotty woman precisely where she could stuff her opinions but wisely bit her tongue. Miranda made the work schedule and getting on her bad side would only guarantee fewer credits in her pocket.

There wasn’t time to wait on one of the slow, open-air platforms that could carry her to the middle levels. It took one of them several hours to rise slowly from the lower levels up to the next sector, groaning and creaking all the way. That was why no one who lived in the slums worked in higher levels, the time and cost to travel was too much to make it worth it. Today, she would have to eat the credits and hail a public skycar.

Luckily, it was mid-afternoon and a slow time for traffic between the levels. She managed to quickly catch a public skycar that was dropping off another passenger just down the street from the cafeteria.

She slid onto the cracked leather seat. It was difficult not to be reminded of the luxury vehicle that had carried her to Eros House. This model was significantly older and had seen many more miles of service. A smell of something damp and musty drifted into her nostrils as she settled back against the seat.

“Scan your identification,” the driver snapped, indicating a reader panel that extended from behind his seat. “C’mon, I haven’t got all day.”

Ianthe scanned her card and glared at the back of the driver’s head. He was likely a slum-dweller, just as she was. And like all of those who lived in the lower levels, patience was a virtue they could ill-afford.

Though, that didn’t give him cause to be so rude.

The scanner beeped as more credits than she could afford were deducted from her family’s shared account. “Just get me there quickly, please.”

“You’ll get there when you do. I’m not risking a citation on you.”

She fought off a wave of nausea as the skycar lifted off of the ground and into the air. The back of her hand pressed against her mouth as bile burned in the back of her throat.

“I will not throw up,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut.

“What was that?” The cabbie craned back to glare at her. “Better not be getting sick in my car, rat. I’ll have you fined for the cleaning.”

Taking a deep breath, she snapped right back. “The sooner you get me to the civic pavilion, the less you’ll have to worry about.”

The cabbie grumbled something rude under his breath, but returned his gaze to the lines of traffic climbing up between the sky-high buildings. “This is why I don’t service the slums.”

Ianthe chose to ignore that and focus on keeping down the small breakfast she’d had. She couldn’t remember the last time that she’d felt this ill, perhaps the stress of it all was finally getting to her. Her skin felt itchy on the inside, in places where she couldn’t reach. Beads of sweat broke out along her brow and she looked over the driver’s shoulder to ensure he had not turned the heat on full blast.

The civic pavilion came into view just as the skycar began a rapid descent to the landing pad. Her stomach responded with a sensation like the organ had been launched up into her throat so it felt like she was choking on it.

“Swallow down that sick and get out,” the driver grouched as she pushed open the door. “And don’t think I’m waiting around to take you back down. Call somebody else or you can use the platform like the rest of ‘em.”

As if her credits wouldn’t go just as far as anybody else’s. Interactions like these were what made Ianthe so desperate to get her family out of the slums. This cabbie would rather go without a fair than take her back to the lower levels and she hadn’t even thrown up in his car. He wouldn’t dare speak to her that way if she was from the higher sectors.

Despite Miranda’s insistence that she was already late, only workers milled about the pavilion, setting up tables and chairs. The event, whatever it was, clearly hadn’t yet begun.

A harried woman wearing a dark suit and impractical heels was at the entrance of the pavilion, barking orders into a heads-up display.

“The cloth on table four doesn’t match the rest. I need you to bring me cream, not off-white.”

The woman stalked back and forth across the walkway, gesticulating wildly.

“And why did I see lilies in the reception hall when I specifically requested orchids? Sky above, could you screw this up anymore if you tried?”

Ianthe approached slowly, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. But the woman continued to rant at whatever poor soul was on the other end of the receiver.

“Who are you?”

With a start, she realized the woman was staring at her. “My name is Ianthe.”

“I don’t care,” the woman snapped. She turned away, clearly speaking again through the earpiece. “Get that stage moved over at least four feet and send someone to the ballroom with extra tables. What do you want?”

It took a moment for Ianthe to realize that the last bit of that was directed at her. “My name is Ianthe...”

“You said that already.” The woman’s foot tapped an impatient beat on the stone pathway. She was very clearly an Alpha, one of the few females of that dynamic, which did not bode well for her patience.

“I’m assigned to Cafeteria #149, but I was told to report here today.”

“Oh, another one of you.” Her voice was distracted, but there was no malice in her expression. “This is a bit different from cafeteria service, so I hope you learn quickly. The food preparation area is through there, ask for Zach and tell him that I said to get you a uniform.”

The woman turned away and resumed yelling into her headset, dismissing her before Ianthe had the chance to ask anything else.

Ianthe wove through a maze of tables, each laid out with a full service of flatware and fine china. This would be substantially different from serving in the cafeteria as the meals there didn’t tend to come in multiple courses.

A complicated art piece made from multiple glowing lights hung above the center of the pavilion, seemingly suspended in midair. In reality, the fixture likely hung from a complicated set of wire and pulleys but the surreal effect was the same. Crystal drops reflected light like tears from the eye of an unforgiving god.

The piece was a perfect representation of Pandora, elegance on its face that distracted from the dirty practicalities allowing for its existence in the first place. Ianthe was like one of those hidden wires holding the piece upright, completely necessary for its existence but unable to be seen or appreciated.

When she pushed open the doors to the service area, Ianthe was met with a bustling scene. Dozens of people dressed in starched black uniforms hurried around the room. She could only imagine what the per plate cost of an event like this would be, but it was likely enough to cover uncountable meals for her family.

Squeezing between the metal counters, Ianthe approached the nearest person who seemed to have some idea of what was happening. It was a Beta male, wearing the same uniform as the rest, but with an air of assurance that the others lacked.

“Excuse me.”

“You’re excused, beautiful.” He turned with a bright smile that would have devastated her months ago, but now just seemed a paltry comparison to something else. He had the same dark hair as the man that she couldn’t rip from her thoughts, but that was where any similarity ended.

“Do you know where I can find someone named Zach?” She said, ignoring the overly familiar tone. “He’s supposed to get me a uniform.”

The Beta gave her a long once-over that made her want to slap him in the face. “Depends on who’s asking, sweetheart.”

“My name is Ianthe,” she said, feeling like a repeater bird. “I’m here to serve.”

He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was clearly supposed to be funny. “That’s quite an offer, doll.”

Sick to her stomach and completely done with being played with, Ianthe turned away. “Forget it. I’ll ask someone else.”

“Cool it, sister.” He bared his teeth in a wide grin. “I’m Zach.”

“Great,” she murmured, exhausted already even though the work hadn’t even started. “The woman out there said that you could get me a uniform.”

“You mean Elsie?” He laughed, and the sound lit up his face in a way that made him seem much more approachable. “I’m surprised she stopped yelling at her assistant long enough to acknowledge you were there.”

Ianthe felt the corner of her mouth tip up in a small smile. “I do feel sorry for whoever is on the other side of that headset.”

“You said you need a uniform, right?”

“Yes.”

The Beta male surveyed her body, gaze lingering on her hips before moving up to her chest. She was about to respond to the indecent appraisal when his eyes snapped back to her face.

“Size four, right?”

She blinked at him, surprised at his accuracy. “How do you know that?”

“I have a gift,” he responded with a wink. “Maybe I was a fashion designer in a past life.”

It was impossible to tell if he was just messing with her so Ianthe made a point not to respond. His tone was too bold as if he were flirting with her. She was unused to getting that type of attention from strangers and it made her suspicious.

“Or I just spend too much time looking at women’s bodies.”

Face flaming, Ianthe grabbed the folded fabric out of his hands and turned away. “Where can I change?”

“Bathroom is down the hall.” His hand brushed hers as she took hold of the offered uniform and he held onto to it for a beat too long, prolonging the amount of time that they both held it. “I really like the perfume you’re wearing, by the way. It smells amazing.”

“I’m not wearing any perfume.” As if she could afford that sort of luxury.

“Really? I guess it’s just you.”

She snatched the garment away and held it close to her chest. “I'm going to change. What station am I assigned to?”

“Dessert prep, right over there. Just jump in as soon as you’re ready. One more thing, a bunch of us are going out for drinks after this is over. You should come.”

With a quick shake of her head, Ianthe practically scurried down the hallway to get away from the Beta, but she felt his gaze until she reached the bathroom and disappeared inside.

Ianthe barely made it inside of the stall before the nausea that had been threatening for hours finally reached its peak. She coughed and gagged as the contents of her stomach emptied in its entirety. It had been years since she had fallen ill enough to vomit, but clearly, the events of the past week had pushed her body to its breaking point.

Her ashen face met her in the mirror when she finally emerged from the toilet stall, sweaty and still feverish. The best thing to do would be go home and sleep it off, but she risked employment termination if she left now. Miranda would love any excuse to have her reclassified as unemployable.

Turning the tap, Ianthe cupped a handful of water and splashed her cheeks. The cool against her skin provided a small amount of relief. It was only a few hours of serving, perhaps she could even slip away early without it raising much of a fuss. She just had to get through a few courses of overly rich food served to spoiled dignitaries, then she could go home, crawl into bed and not emerge for at least a cycle.

Her hair was wilder than she liked and she made some attempt to smooth it into a more manageable shape. But little hairs continued to stick out here and there, making it seem like she’d just crawled out of bed.

She looked like what she was, a bedraggled slums’ rat.

Gathering herself, Ianthe changed into the provided uniform which was a perfect fit. Regarding herself one last time in the mirror’s hazy reflection, she breathed a heavy sigh.

It was possible to hear the noise as the pavilion slowly filled with invited guests, waiting to be served a more sumptuous meal than any she would ever experience. Signs outside indicated that the event was for charity and the irony of that was not lost on her.

She wanted to cry at the injustice of the world that kept her so low while others flew so high, but now wasn’t the time to succumb to self-pity. She had a job to do and she would see it done, all the while cursing those she was forced to serve to the very pits of the under-reaches.

Perhaps if she imagined the plates heavy with poison, instead of delicacies, it would make it easier to bear.