Annie was silent, her hands balled in fists by her side.

“That explains a few things,” she said, her voice dangerously soft. “So you were doing recon?”

Mitchel hummed a yes.

“Those pieces of shit,” she muttered. “Did you find out who did it?”

Mizar’s scarred face flashed before his eyes.

“Possibly. I wouldn’t put it past him to hurt a human so thoughtlessly.”

Mitchel thought of Cherzil, and the higher ranked one—Wrose— and his kind gray-blue eyes. But soon it was easy to image the other three, towering over Ayo as he gasped for air, having the gall to punish him additionally.

If I had not been there today, Ayo may have met the same fate as Winnie, Mitchel thought. He shook his head to gain clarity.

“We can’t trust them Annie,” he insisted. “Not with Winnie. Not when I speak their language and they still won’t listen.”

Rwequeks like Cherzil and Wrose are far and few between. I have been lucky, two times in a row.

It won’t happen again.

“I don’t know…” Annie trailed off. One of her fists unraveled and she rubbed her shoulder as if she were uncomfortable. “I just don’t want to see him like that anymore. You know. Smiling through his pain like it not worth our time.”

Mitchel did know. It upset him just to see Winston dancing past Mitchel’s worries last night, skating around hard truths and not allowing himself help when it was clearly needed.

He imagined his conversation that he would inevitably have with Winston tonight, asking him if the guard had a scrawling scar down his face. Winston would be upset Mitchel had fought for him in the mines, and Mitchel would be upset when Winston inevitably would attempt to diminish his problems. He would force the medicine into Winston’s hands and then debate, right then, what was best for his health.

“We’ll get him help,” Mitchel promised, his brain already trying to find an alternative solution to the Facility and the mess of Rwequeks.

The bus ride was fairly short as it rolled back into their Faction and stopped at a designated unloading area. Lucas rejoined their group as they exited the bus and the three walked together, despite the turn of events from the day, they were content. Lucas recounted what Ayo’s house had looked like beyond the haggle portion, how Ayo had a knack for bracelet making just like Gabriella. Their conversations were sprinkled with soft laughter, their voices traveling far down the road along with the other workers returning to their housing units.

The lamplight had not turned orange yet, despite Mitchel’s many obstacles in getting home, and washed over each household in a sterile white. In the windows of passing houses, the curtains had not been drawn yet, each revealing a different way that the children were coping with life under Rwequek rule. Many laughed alongside the clanking of spoons in bowls filled with brown mush. Some were hanging laundry in the front yard, catching the night’s breeze in attempt to dry their somewhat-washed clothes. Kids Lucas and Christine’s age were darting around the street, entertaining themselves with games and soccer balls. Lucas watched the kids closely, as if he wanted to join in, but kept by Annie and Mitchel’s side. His glance shifted to the houses in front of them and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You ok?” Mitchel asked.

“The fire’s not on,” Lucas murmured.

Mitchel frowned, a sensation crawling up his spine between worry and fear. He turned to look towards their house, which was quickly coming into view. The window was dark, lacking the light of the stove. No smells of dinner wafted out the window, nor did Christine run in the street with Laura in tow. Their house was half illuminated with lamplight, the rest cast in dark shadow.

Everything’s fine, Mitchel told himself, clenching his fists.

“Mitch…” Annie whispered, her voice getting stuck in her throat.

Mitchel had no reason to look at her. He knew her face would be taunt with worry, the good mood between the three dissipating like smoke.

It has to be fine.

Like a force had pushed her forward, Annie began to run towards their house. An indescribable weight filled Mitchel’s shoes and fingers, making his movements sluggish as he took off after her.

She reached the front door before he could and whipped it open. The door was still shaking with her force once Mitchel reached the archway.

It was dark in their little home, only a handheld lamp resting on the floorboards by the sleeping area where the rest of the family was kneeling into their bedding. Christine was crying into her hands, the sound intentionally muffled as she appeared to be trying to calm down. Next to her, Laura was looking forward, her eyes wide as she stared at the body tucked under mounds of blankets.

“Annie— You, you have to help me!” Gabriella cried out, her skin around her eyes blotchy from rubbing them. Specks of tears glittered on her glasses.

Her hands that were pressing a wet cloth up against Winston’s forehead shook fiercely. Mitchel’s nose crinkled. The air was almost humid with their big family squeezed inside the small space, and the smell of sweat and blood morbidly reminded him of a slaughterhouse. Winston’s knee was propped up on a pillow, away from the heap of blankets, and had been removed of Mitchel’s bandaging. Mitchel’s breath hitched.

The wound was infected.

White festered around the edges of the cut, much like Mitchel had seen the night previous, but what caught Mitchel’s initial concern was that the wound sluggishly dripped a blue-tinted fluid. Winston looked unconscious, but even asleep he appeared to be in great pain. His eyebrows were taunt, his forehead wrinkled with tension, his hands gripped the sheets with tight fists. Sweat poured from his temples and made his blonde hair curl around his ears. Through Christine’s muffled crying, Winston’s rattling breath could be heard. It started slow, his whole chest decompressing, before he sharply inhaled a stuttering breath.

Mitchel could not take his eyes off the foreign qualities of the wound.

How could it get so bad since yesterday? He thought thunderously, his brain trying to process the scene with his body unable to catch up. He stood rooted into the doorway as Lucas squeezed past him.

“What happened?” Annie whispered, her voice gravelly and stuck with emotion as she dropped down beside Gabriella.

Once Annie took over holding the washcloth, Gabbi wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. Beside her and Christine, Mitchel finally moved forward and sunk into the blankets like a deadweight. He grabbed Winston’s hand, hot and clammy. Winston did not respond to the touch.

“I don’t know. I-I went to see Ayo after work, to see how he was doing—” Gabriella sniffed back more tears and glanced over to Mitchel, “—And I came here and Winston was just shivering so badly. Christine had tried to warm him up with the blankets, but God, Annie, his fever—”

Gabriella shook her head, almost denying her own words.

“It hasn’t broken. And he’s woken up once or twice, but only for a few seconds,” she murmured.

“Mitchie…” Laura whimpered.

Her voice snapped Mitchel out of his muted state. Realization began to dawn upon him. If Christine had come home from work and seen him in such a state, Winston had been suffering for hours, progressively getting worse as the day ticked by.

Heat made Mitchel’s vision blur with tears.

What have I been doing? He thought to himself. Intermingling with the Rwequeks while Winston suffered in silence?

“I’ll go get the medicine…” Mitchel whispered, squeezing Winston’s hand before letting it go.

“Mitchel, no,” Annie shouted, her eyes angry and shimmering with tears at bay. He stopped short, mid crouch. “That’s done nothing. You’ve got to get someone. You’ve got to get help—”

“What help can we get him?” Mitchel asked. The heat on his cheeks sharpened his voice.

Annie’s lip quivered, her nose flared, her body tensed.

“Get a guard!”

Mitchel breath hitched.

Get a Rwequek for help? He thought. His eyes were clouded with memories that had occurred only hours ago.

“Do you honestly believe they’ll help us?” he hissed. “They are monsters!”

“I know that!” Annie cried in frustration. “I- I know that, but if Winston is this bad, and we can’t do anything about it, then I don’t care where the help comes from. Look at him Mitch!”

Mitchel swallowed. The heat of his face overwhelmed him, and he pulled his eyes away from hers. Gabriella wiped at her eyes again while Christine squeezed Laura’s hand.

“They hurt Mitch today,” Lucas said. He was standing by Gabriella’s side and shaking his head. His voice grew louder. “You all weren’t there, but I was.”

“I’m fine,” Mitchel bit out.

“Winnie needs help,” Gabriella argued, her voice high with worry.

“They hurt Ayo too!” Lucas shot back. Gabriella furiously blinked at the reproach. “What if they— What if they just hurt Winnie more?”

Annie shook her head fiercely.

“We have to take that risk, or he could d—!”

“Stop!” Mitchel said coldly. His words halted Annie’s. She would not say that. Not in front of the kids.

Winston shuddered, letting out a pained groan. The family waited in bated breath. With the room sickly silent once more, Mitchel could hear soft whimpers coming from Winston. Only when he grew still did the family dare to breathe.

Christine finally removed her hand from her mouth, sniffing hard. Tears were blotching her chin and she sniffed back another wave of mucus as a way to center herself.

“J’ai peur, Mitch,” she whispered to him, loud enough so only he could hear. “J’ai eu peur toute la journée.”

Mitchel pressed the cool of his hand on his cheeks to try to simmer down his thoughts.

What if the one who did this, who hurt Winnie, came to “help” us?

What if the Medical Facility only distances us?

What if my actions today put Winnie in even more danger? They’ll associate him with me.

Mitchel dragged his hands away and looked at Christine. She was watching him for some kind of answer.

But what if not getting help causes him to grow worse?

What if he never wakes up?

It will be my fault.

Mitchel shut his eyes.

I am the only one who can communicate to the Rwequeks what he needs. About his condition.

It’s my responsibility, regardless of what I choose.

“I’ll send out a distress signal,” Mitchel nodded to himself. “And I’ll try to get them to understand.”

Gabriella sagged in relief, gratitude shining in her eyes. Beside her, Annie nodded sharply, her eyebrows still taunt as if she were still unsatisfied.

She won’t be satisfied until he’s safe, Mitchel thought, but bitterness settled on his tongue. But she had no need to imply the things she did. Not in front of the kids.

Mitchel reached into his work bag, grabbing his eyepiece for the final usage the little device could achieve. In all four years here, he had never resorted to using it, only having to deal with its aftermath once Laura unknowingly pressed it. It was an emergency message, exclusively for life or death situations, that would notify the closest Rwequek guard to come and help. It seemed the Rwequeks did not care about the human’s comfort under their rule— bland meals, incriminating work hours, hostile guards— but death was different. Even in District D, Mitchel had only seen two or three people pass away out of the few thousand that were trapped here. In the game that the Rwequeks were playing, death was the only line they tried desperately not to cross.

Mitchel did not care about their reasoning for such a rule but hoped desperately it would apply to Winston and his recovery. He hesitated for just a moment longer, before pushing the button.

The eyepiece turned red, a Rwequekian statement flashing across the screen.

Message sent. Standby 256.

Chewing on his lip, Mitchel dropped his bag off at the table and exited the house without another word. If he could, he did not want to speak to the guards in front of the family. Especially if it were one of the guards he interacted with today.

Mizar, Yuen, Pax, Cherzil, he recited.

He was playing roulette that was stacked against his favor. He did not need more hostility when Winston was in desperate need of aid.

After a few minutes of waiting in the growing chill of the night, the lamplight had shifted into curfew orange and only heightened Mitchel’s anxiety. From his right, a sleek black vehicle similar to the one Wrose had ridden reflected each lamppost and slowed as it neared their dwelling. Mitchel tried and failed not to wring his hands.

As the front door of the vehicle opened, Mitchel tried not to show the relief on his face.

“You again,” Cherzil said, his voice a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

He nodded fiercely and opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a second slam of a door. Another Rwequek rounded the car to stand next to Cherzil.

Mitchel quickly steeled himself, his hands separating and turning into tight fists.

Yuen. The guard’s eyes lit up with a smirk but said nothing.

“Every time I have run into you, you have been in some type of trouble,” Cherzil said, his voice like gravel. From the tight way he was holding himself and his half-lidded eyes, he looked exhausted. “What is the meaning of your signal?”

Mitchel squared his shoulders and jutted his chin out tall.

“You were right,” Mitchel swallowed around the Rwequekian. “Last night, when you told me to go to the Human Medical Facility. My family member— he is very, very sick.”

Cherzil hesitated by the side of the car with a grimace. Mitchel’s heart stuttered.

Would he not come? Have I pushed him too far?

“Please,” Mitchel gave in, his voice dropping on the word he had not often practiced. He shook his head. Winston’s warm smile transcended his pride. “His wound is too infected for us to do anything. We need help.”

Cherzil took in a deep breath, not sparing a look at Yuen who looked very pleased with the situation, and sighed.

“Show me to him,” Cherzil said.

As Mitchel had not left the doorway, he turned his back on the Rwequeks and opened their house. The flood of light into the room caught the white of his family’s eyes, all of them staring at the Rwequeks that quickly swept through.

Annie shot to her feet, her hand twitching as if upon instinct when a Rwequek was near. Beside her, Christine and Laura skittishly moved away from the intruders while Lucas and Gabriella only shifted their stance, ready to spring-load into action if they were needed.

“Those are the same guards as before, aren’t they?” Lucas murmured in a mix of fear and surprise.

Gabriella turned to look at him in worry and turned to Mitchel for confirmation.

Mitchel mouthed It’s ok, without truly agreeing with his own words.

Cherzil ignored them and dropped to a crouch beside Winston and his wound.

“Is— Is he ok—?” Mitchel asked. He saw Annie recoil slightly at his Rwequekian.

“The color of the wound is worrying,” Cherzil murmured, frowning at the injury. “I have a few ideas to what this must be, but I do not want to assume anything just yet. Yuen, get the stretcher.”