Page 10 of Storm

Nix’s shoulders tense at the comment. This is a familiar song and dance we’ve partaken in before on Market Day, but it hasn’t come up in a while.

“She was tested when she was six, and it came back less than 1 percent. It should be on her ID.”

The not-so-flawless older man taps at his tablet behind the glass and takes his time reading my file. Without looking at us, he picks up his phone and puts it to his ear. “I have a nineteen-year-old female here, last tested when she was six.” The man listens to the other person speak and answers, “Less than 1 percent.” He continues to grumble about his latest acquisition down the line.

This is not the norm, and Nix moves his body to fully cover mine from the keeper. A sense of dread washes over me as I’m encompassed by his shadow.

“Yes, sir,” Nix replies.

I step closer to my brother’s back to hear what the man says next. “Once you are inside the factory, you will need to escort your sister to the med bay. They’re expecting her there.”

The small hairs on my skin rise at the comment. Why do I need to go to the med bay? I’m not sick. Not that they care if we are sick. The med bay is only for hollows who work in the factory.

Running a hand through the tangled mess of hair barely contained by my plait, from the corner of my eye, I see Noah and his gang of pervs cross my field of vision. They strut through the gate, heading straight for us. Fuckers.

We’re early risers, missing a big chunk of travellers who prefer to make the trek after they do their daily chores. Nix and I take the gambit and squeeze in as much as we can when we get home.

“Hey, Storm,” Noah shouts, bridging the gap between us.

As my body physically revolts, stepping back, I run into Nix, and he spins to steady me. “What’s going on?” He looks down at me. Clarity dawns on him as Noah is on us in a flash.

“Hey, big brother Nix,” Noah says.

“Hello, Noah.” He entertains the weedy teen for a second, pushing me to the side, out of his grasp. With my wrist in hand, Nix puts my credit band around it, all under the watchful eye of the hollow keeper.

What I don’t expect is my brother to grasp my other wrist, latching on another bracelet. The bite of the iron chills my bones.

“What is this?” I hold it up and pivot my wrist, taking stock of the black wristband, different to the one on my right arm that has a lightning bolt on it. This new bracelet is a circular snake symbol, similar to a badge I’ve seen the hollow keepers wearing.

“It’s just a band. They will take it off after you visit the med bay.” My brother pulls me through the factory doors into the hustle and bustle of vendors setting up. I don’t miss the wiggled eyebrows Noah shoots me as I disappear from view.

“Why do I have to visit the med bay?”

Dragging me into a tight corner, Nix covers my body with his and leans down to whisper in my ear, “Listen to me carefully, Storm. Go to the med bay. Give them your solence. Don’t try to play the hero. Do it quickly. Don’t linger. Get in and out. I’ll meet you out the front of the med bay when you’re done.”

My hands clench, pinching at my healing cuts. “I don’t understand.”

“Go to the med bay. Be quick. Don’t linger,” Nix continues as he grabs the empty sack off my back.

“But I⁠—”

He walks away, twisting his head, warning me to go with his stern gaze. Damn him. He’s usually not so forthright. Unless he’s concerned. We’ve done nothing wrong, though.

I’ve given solence before. If they had found any Halo solence within me, they would’ve taken me. Yet, here I am, just another swine. I’m lacking in that department, which is exactly why I’m a lightning farmer.

Without thought, I follow his instructions and walk to the med bay. It’s beyond the vendors of the market towards the back, with a white and black cross above the entrance. I stand at the threshold of a locked glass door. Turning back to the crowd, I look for Nix, but I can’t find him anywhere.

In and out. Be quick. I can do that.

“Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here?” Fuck my life. I sigh loudly, pivoting on my bare heel to face dark blue eyes, a totally different shade to my own. Greasy brown hair falls to Noah’s shoulders, and I would almost think him good-looking, if he weren’t such an asshole—a smelly asshole, at that.

I really shouldn’t point fingers when I probably smell just as bad.

“Yes, well, you did see me come in, Noah.” I spread my hands out before us.

He pushes in closer. I take a step back, towards the med bay. Now I can smell him. Not the familiar tang of metal, dirt, and sweat. Noah smells foul. Death rolls off his breath. His teeth are yellow from a lack of brushing. If he’s not careful, they’ll start to fall out. A tickle works its way down my throat.

Noah’s mam passed last year. His dad and brothers must have a no-cleaning rule at home. Basic hygiene is a necessity to avoid illness. It’s the only thing that keeps us “healthy”. Water may be scarce, but we can use credit for basic supplies that support cleanliness. It does mean forgoing certain luxuries that it seems Noah isn’t willing to give up.