Amelia moved through the morning the way she always did.

  Brush teeth. Shower. Get dressed. Blow-dry.

  The hairdryer’s hollow roar filled her head. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into it. The noise chased the last fragments of the dream away. Her hair hung loose at her shoulders, dark and naturally wavy—somewhere between black and brown—the kind of colour that never really caught the light. She tied it back with a plain black hairband. No makeup. No accessories. No jewelry. A simple look that suited her just fine. The other girls in school didn’t understand. They pointed, whispered, and laughed behind her back; they didn’t even really try to hide it. But Amelia didn’t really care. Their chatter—beauty tips, boys, and EverLink influencers—felt like an alien language to her. And, although life insisted she stay in their orbit, she tried her best not to break the atmosphere of their hostile little world.

  Downstairs, she stared into the long mirror in the hallway. The girl that looked back at her seemed a half step from ordinary. Hazel-grey eyes beneath dark brows; no shadows under them, despite the sleepless nights. A small frame; narrow shoulders. Steady. Still. Unremarkable.

  Her head tilted slightly. For a second, the girl in the mirror looked like she might speak. Amelia had no idea what she might say.

  The moment stretched until she broke eye contact.

  “Come on, Amelia,” she muttered. “You gotta go.”

  The girl in the mirror said nothing.

  In the kitchen, Laura smiled—a persistent sunbeam nudging its way through the clouds. She leaned back against the counter in a loose blue cardigan and faded floral blouse, coffee mug cradled in both hands. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a loose bun that didn’t look like it would survive the day.

  “Morning, sweetie. You sleep well?”

  She already knew the answer. Laura had spent countless nights perched on the edge of Amelia’s bed, whispering reassurances into the dark—while Matthew snored peacefully, unaware of the monsters being subdued down the hall.

  Warm butter and fresh coffee filled the kitchen. A thread of lavender underneath; a handful of freshly picked stems sat lopsided in a vase on the counter, like always.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Really.” Amelia pulled on her jacket. “Gotta go—I’m gonna be late. See you tonight.”

  She grabbed a piece of cold toast, slung her bag over one shoulder, and headed for the door.

  Outside, Sycamore Lane sat empty and waiting. The morning fog had burned off under an unusually bright October sun, but a bitter chill still lingered in the air. A dozen or so houses stood in rows along the street, low to the ground and wide at the base, like they’d settled there a long time ago and had never seen a reason to move.

  Amelia’s house, number thirty-six, was wedged near the centre of the row. Same low silhouette, same shallow front steps and carefully manicured garden. The only thing that set it apart was the front door, which was painted a shade of royal blue that seemed to shift with its surroundings—storm-dark in the night, and almost luminous when the afternoon sun caught it in just the right way.

  As the name promised, sycamore trees lined both sides of the road. Branches arched overhead, forming a dense canopy that filtered the light into fragments. Their shadows spidered across the sidewalk like something alive. It felt like a place that had been cut loose from the city. A safe haven. Or a prison. Amelia was never sure.

  She picked up her pace, breath blossoming in the cold. Missing the bus would mean a long walk, or a longer wait. She didn’t need either. Not today. She just wanted to disappear into her usual seat—earbuds in, world tuned out.

  At the corner, she narrowly avoided a collision, as someone absent-mindedly drifted toward her.

  Marv.

  Marv Dumile was tall, wiry, and built like a basketball player—all limbs, but he moved like he’d only just found the manual for them that morning. He was wearing frayed crimson hoodie under a denim jacket, with baggy cargo pants hanging down over battered, thick-soled skateboard sneakers. His mop of dark curls seemed to be at war with gravity, every strand staging its own private rebellion.

  “Oh—hey, Ames.” He looked up and then automatically fell into step beside her, adjusting his glasses and puffing out a sharp breath. “Didn’t take you for the power-walking type.”

  “I’m not. I just like getting places on time.”

  “Time’s just a concept,” he grinned.

  “Try explaining that to the bus.”

  Marv buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “So, anyway, why don’t I spare you the horror of standing alone at the bus stop. Consider it my daily act of social heroism, y’know?”

  Amelia rolled her eyes and kept moving, but she didn’t argue.

  They continued to the bus stop. Marv’s rucksack hung from one shoulder, bouncing like it had somewhere better to be. In the crook of his arm, he carried a battered EverLink tablet which he lovingly called Ol’ Reliable, a first-generation relic in a world obsessed with upgrades. His mom, Miriam, had found it in a back-alley electronics boutique, tucked away in a less-than reputable part of town. Second-hand. Maybe third. Its surface was a battlefield of scratches. One corner was chipped like a broken tooth. Marv didn’t care. He took it everywhere, clutching it like a priceless artifact—to him, that’s exactly what it was.

  Marv lived in Fairview Heights, a name so spectacularly inaccurate he’d turned it into a running joke. In Fairview, nothing was fair, and the only view was of spray-painted walls and boarded up windows. Tech was Marv’s ticket to a better life. It spoke to him like a first language, and he spoke back fluently. Miriam had noticed the spark first, and she fought like hell to get to him into Willowbrook High on a scholarship. The three-bus daily commute was brutal, but it was better than running the gauntlet at his local school in Fairview.

  They shuffled up the bus line.

  “You know, Ames, one day I’m gonna beat you to the bus stop. And I’ll finally get to see what the world looks like from the window seat.”

  Amelia didn’t look up.“The day that happens, you can have my seat, Marv… and I’ll buy you a new tablet.”

  He let out an easy laugh as they reached the front of the queue. Amelia stepped up onto the driverless bus and tapped her phone against the worn EverPass scanner.

  A soft voice came from nowhere:

  Good morning, Amelia Swanson.

  Welcome aboard bus route 221.

  The destination is Willowbrook High School.

  Estimated arrival: 8:27 a.m.

  Enjoy your journey.

  Amelia didn’t react. She just slipped into the aisle, adjusting her bag like she was brushing off static.

  Evie.

  The name was short for EverVoice, and she was EverLink’s built-in digital assistant.

  “One voice. Infinite possibilities.”

  Evie was the glue that held the EverLink empire together—a seamless net of systems, all connected by an assistant so smart, so familiar, that people forgot she wasn’t human.

  And she was everywhere. Homes. Trains. Classrooms. Hospitals. Stadiums. Sometimes, after a full day of chirpy announcements and manufactured positivity, Amelia caught herself wondering who

  Evie’s voice actually belonged to, and if they’d got a sweet deal on the royalties. If they did, they had to be a trillionaire by now.

  A soft ping echoed from the scanner behind her as Marv tapped in next.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Good morning, Marv Dumile.

  Welcome aboard bus route 221.

  The destination is Willowbrook High School.

  Estimated arrival: 8:27 a.m.

  Enjoy your journey.

  Same voice. Same words. Same weight.

  The bus doors hissed shut behind them. They slid into their usual seats—Amelia by the window, Marv in the aisle. The electric engine stirred beneath them, a low hum under the floor. She found the familiarity of it soothing.

  Marv glanced up and down the aisle before cocking his head in her direction.“Poor Evie. How many times a day do you think she says the same thing? Thousands? Millions? She’s got to be bored out of her digital skull.”

  “She doesn’t have a skull, Marv,” Amelia replied, screwing her face up slightly to reveal a single dimple. “Not even a digital one.”

  “I’m just saying—I’d definitely have gone rogue by now. Can you imagine it? ‘Good morning, Marv Dumile. Why don’t you get off your ass and walk to school, you lazy, worthless meat sack.’”

  “…And enjoy your journey,” Amelia deadpanned, grinning.

  Her smile faded as she turned back to the window. Willowbrook slid past—rows of townhouses, boutiques, and cafés bleeding together like a watercolour. Over the rooftops, the bones of the city were in full view.

  She remembered Matthew’s stories of before. Before the sea rose. Before the cities had guarded borders. Back then, the Commonwealth had been a patchwork of independent states. Now it was managed by a single central government who made all the decisions. Matthew said it was necessary. Resources dwindled. People were scared. When the waters rose, so did the prices. It wasn’t long until the violence started. The Black Fall was the tipping point. After that, everything had changed.

  Greenhaven was one of the few cities that thrived in the aftermath. Its position on the coast—wind-lashed and rain-drenched for at least three seasons of the year—made it perfect for harvesting renewable energy. It became the heart of the Commonwealth’s new power grid, feeding electricity to every corner of the nation. The city found its niche, and growth and prosperity followed. But progress always leaves scars. And, in Greenhaven, Old Town bore most of them.

  Old Town clung to the edge of an intricate saltwater inlet, right where the city met the sea. For generations, it had been Greenhaven’s beating heart, kept alive by the working hands on its waterfront. Now it was little more than a hollowed out shell. Empty docks. Abandoned warehouses. Cranes rusted by rain and sea spray. It had been founded on muddy tidal flats, back when ocean trade mattered more than solid foundations. Floods rose and fires raged and, each time, the city built itself a little higher—new layers covering old. Now, in places, the sidewalks seemed to sag and shift, the way a story does when it’s been retold too many times.

  The bus continued its climb. Amelia caught a glimpse of Uptown in the distance, gleaming like an emerald city. It was the smiling face of Greenhaven, worlds away from Old Town’s slow, waterlogged decay. Skyscrapers, luxury flats and shopping malls were scattered across its skyline, glinting in the sun like polished teeth.

  Midtown was the buffer between the two. A bridge between worlds. Willowbrook, Amelia’s neighborhood, was Midtown to its core. Block after block of modest middle-class homes with clipped hedges and tidy gardens, punctuated by the occasional coffee shop and grocery store.

  Amelia leaned her head against the glass, watching the city roll by. A thought crept in before she could stop it.

  What if I’d grown up somewhere else?

  Somewhere in this city was the house she’d lived in with her biological parents. Before the smoke. Before the shadows. Before the screams. She could’ve looked for it, but she hadn’t. Maybe she was afraid of what she’d find. Or what would find her.

  The bus slowed to a stop, and Evie’s voice cut through her thoughts:

  This is bus route 221.

  The current stop is Willowbrook High School.

  The time is 8:27 a.m.

  If you are exiting the vehicle here, please mind the step.

  Enjoy your journey.

  Marv tapped her arm. “Here we go again, Ames.”

  Willowbrook High School loomed ahead—a three-story grey-brick box, built for function not freedom. No warmth. No welcome. Just harsh angles, mirrored glass, and concrete walls. Amelia figured that whoever designed it had a personal vendetta against teenagers, and probably found the concept of personal expression offensive.

  She scanned her EverPass at the entry gate. Evie’s voice trailed behind her, chirping platitudes to an empty turnstile.

  Inside, the halls were a sea of bodies. Amelia and Marv drifted toward first period, carried forward by the current of the crowd. They’d barely made it halfway down the corridor before Bryony Thorburn appeared, slicing through the tide like a shark sniffing out a bucket of blood.

  Bryony was Willowbrook High’s finest, and she made sure everyone knew it. Her father worked for the Unity Council, an organisation closely tied to the government, and her mother was one of Willowbrook’s top real estate agents. The Thorburn family hadn’t quite made it to Uptown yet, but it was seemingly only a matter of time. Everything Bryony did was a deliberate power play. Every look was loaded, every word a weapon. Even the carefree way she leaned against someone else’s locker was a reminder of her social status. She gave Amelia serious ice sculpture vibes.

  Flawlessly sculpted. Unapologetically sharp.

  And utterly incompatible with the concept warmth.

  Wrapped around Bryony’s wrist was the newest EverLink device—the EverBand. No keypad. No screens. Just a sleek silver-grey bracelet equipped with the latest augmented reality nano-chip, wirelessly synced to a receiver tucked behind her ear. It projected next-generation digital overlays onto the world like a second skin. It wasn’t really a gadget to Bryony; it was a flex. A statement piece worth more than most families made in a month. She was the only student at Willowbrook High that had one and she barely knew how to use it. Instead, she flaunted it like costume jewelry.

  Flanked by her usual shadows—Poppy Maynard and Sienna Fields—Bryony sauntered across the corridor with the lazy grace of a predator. Her eyes flicked between Amelia, Marv, and the battered tablet tucked under his arm. She was sniffing out weakness. Looking for sport.

  “Well, if it isn’t the charity case,” she cooed towards Marv, her voice sweet enough to rot teeth.

  Sienna giggled. Poppy flipped her hair with rehearsed indifference.

  “Don’t you have better things to do, Bryony?” Amelia snapped back. “Like polish your EverBand?”

  Bryony responded with a laugh so fake it could’ve been grown in a lab. “Oh, Amelia. It’s almost noble, standing up for… that.”

  She flicked her gaze over to Marv, just long enough to let him know he was next. “It might even be commendable, you know, if it weren’t so painfully predictable,” she covered her mouth with her hand. “Yawn.”

  “Come on, Marv. The Witches of Willowbrook aren’t worth it.” Amelia pulled him by the arm.

  As he brushed past, Bryony leaned in close. “Listen, Marv… I can see how hard you’re trying—I really can. But, the thing you’ve got to realize is, you’re only really here to bump up the school’s diversity numbers. You’ll never fit in. No matter how hard you scrub, you’ll always smell like Old Town trash.”

  The last sentence hit like a homing missile. Marv’s grip tightened around his tablet. His head bowed and his shoulders curled inward. He’d heard worse growing up in Old Town. Much worse. But it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

  Amelia's' fists clenched tight, nails biting the flesh of her palms. Rage surged through her like a geyser. Her right hand throbbed.

  One word. One swing. That’s all it would take.

  God, it would feel so good to wipe the smirk off Bryony’s porcelain face.

  But she didn’t. She knew it would only make things worse. Bryony’s parents had power and influence, which meant Bryony did too. She knew that fighting back would have been an act of self harm. In the school’s hierarchy, they were the outcasts and Bryony Thorburn was completely untouchable. An unelected dictator—all spark, and spite, and perfect teeth.

  As she strolled away nonchalantly, Bryony looked back, a sickly sweet smile, daring Amelia to react. Her cronies trailed behind her like tin cans on a wedding car, laughter clattering down the hallway.

  “Thanks, Ames,” Marv exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Her gaze didn’t budge an inch. “Yes. I did.”

  The words came out sharper than she meant. “Sorry, Marv. She just… ugh. I can’t stand her.”

  They walked on together in silence.

  Marv broke it first.

  “So… what you got next?” His voice had a kind of forced lightness to it, trying to steer the conversation to calmer waters.

  Amelia yanked her locker open.“Physics.”

  She noticed her fingers were still shaking.

  “Oof. Sloane?”

  She nodded.“Yep. And Im pretty certain he hates me.”

  “He hates everyone,” Marv replied, leaning against the wall with one knee jutting out. “You’re probably in the ‘mild annoyance’ category. Which, in my book, is basically a win.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  Marv shrugged. “Could be worse. Much worse. I think he’s actively plotting my demise.”

  He sighed theatrically.

  “I once told him that physics is a rulebook that the universe hasn’t actually read.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes.

  “He looked like he wanted to throw me into the sun. Which, by the way, wouldn’t work, because gravity is a barely enforced suggestion at a cosmic level.”

  As she swung her bag onto her shoulder, Amelia glanced in Marv’s direction.

  “Hey… Marv.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let Bryony get to you.”

  She hesitated, choosing her words like stepping stones.

  “She’ll get what’s coming to her. One day. I’m sure of it.”

  It felt like the right thing to say; the kind of thing a friend might say to make things better. She didn’t know if it was true.

  But she wanted it to be.

  With every fibre of her being, she needed it to be.