The crowd shifted uncomfortably under the hot glare of the giant speakers above us. Rows upon rows of people packed the square, heads down, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the government’s gaze pressed harder on us than the sun ever could. I adjusted my ID badge, the thin plastic strap rubbing against my neck. It was supposed to feel like security—proof that I existed, that I had a place here—but all it felt like was a noose.


    “Keep your head low,” Leo whispered next to me. His breath was hot against my ear, his tone sharper than usual. “The enforcers are circling.”


    I nodded, my fingers gripping the hem of my worn-out jacket. The enforcers always loomed, their black uniforms blending into the shadows even in broad daylight. Their faces were hidden behind tinted visors, reflecting back only your own fear. It was easier not to meet their gaze, to focus instead on the crackling speaker as the Director’s voice boomed across the square.


    “Citizens of District Nine,” the voice intoned, smooth and clipped, like a polished knife. “Today, we celebrate unity. Order. Stability. Remember, it is only through obedience that we thrive.”


    I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Obedience. That word was their weapon, their mantra. Obey, and you’ll survive. Disobey, and…


    My stomach twisted at the memory of the last public trial. A woman had been dragged to the stage, her screams muffled by the rag stuffed in her mouth. They never told us what she’d done, only that she had broken “the code.” Her punishment was swift, brutal, and left a stain on the ground that no one dared look at for weeks.


    “Jose.” Leo’s voice snapped me out of the memory. “Eyes front. They’re watching.”


    I forced myself to look up, past the enforcers, to the platform at the center of the square. A line of representatives stood there, their crisp, spotless uniforms a stark contrast to our tattered clothes. And then there was him—Xavier.


    He stood slightly apart from the others, arms crossed, his posture rigid but not tense. His uniform was immaculate, the polished buttons catching the sunlight like tiny stars. Unlike the others, his face wasn’t cold or calculating. It was unreadable, like a locked door with no key.


    I hated him instantly.


    “Isn’t he from District One?” I whispered to Leo, nodding toward Xavier.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Leo’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. The elite class. Born with a silver spoon and a golden ID. Don’t waste your time thinking about him. People like him don’t even know we exist.”


    But Xavier’s eyes swept the crowd, pausing just long enough on me to send a chill down my spine.


    <hr>


    The ceremony dragged on, a parade of speeches and promises that none of us believed. My legs ached from standing still for so long, and the heat made my skin sticky and uncomfortable. All I wanted was to go home, back to the small apartment I shared with my father, where I could forget—for a moment—that this was my life.


    Just as I thought the ceremony was finally over, a sharp whistle pierced the air. The crowd tensed. Whispers spread like wildfire, and heads turned toward the commotion near the edge of the square.


    An enforcer had grabbed someone—a boy, no older than me—by the collar of his shirt. The boy was thrashing, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the hum of fear that had settled over the crowd.


    “Quiet!” the enforcer barked, slamming the boy to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the pavement made me flinch.


    “What’s happening?” I whispered to Leo.


    “He must’ve tried to cross,” Leo muttered, his voice low.


    “Cross?”


    “The barrier. Between districts.”


    I looked back at the boy, now being hauled to his feet. His face was bloodied, his ID badge dangling uselessly from a broken strap. The barrier. Everyone knew it was forbidden to cross into another district without permission. It didn’t matter if you were starving or desperate. The rules were the rules, and breaking them meant one thing: punishment.


    The enforcer shoved the boy forward, toward the platform.


    “No,” I murmured.


    “Don’t look,” Leo said, grabbing my arm.


    But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The boy was forced onto his knees in front of the representatives. One of them stepped forward—a woman with a sharp jawline and eyes like ice. She didn’t speak, didn’t give any explanation or offer any mercy. She simply nodded.


    The enforcer raised his weapon.


    “Close your eyes,” Leo hissed.


    The shot echoed through the square, louder than the screams that followed.


    <hr>


    That night, I couldn’t sleep. The boy’s face was burned into my mind, his blood a vivid red against the gray pavement. I wanted to forget, to let the numbness take over like it always did. But something was different this time.


    “What kind of world is this?” I asked Leo as we sat on the apartment’s fire escape, the cool night air doing little to ease the suffocating weight on my chest.


    “The only world we’ve got,” he replied, staring out at the city lights.


    I shook my head. “There has to be more than this. There has to be.”


    Leo didn’t answer.


    But as I looked out at the barrier in the distance, its faint glow cutting the city in two, I made a silent promise to myself: I would find out what was on the other side.


    No matter what it cost me.