The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

place.”
“No?”
“No.” Miron’s laugh was unpleasant, a wet, guttural wheeze. “Trust me. We’re better off.”
“If you say so.” Kessler checked his watch. “Either way, my break’s over. You in for cards later?”
“Got my mad money right here.” Miron patted his pocket. The two of them turned back the way they’d come, footsteps dwindling in the distance.
“We should go,” said Lock.
I nodded, and we hurried in the opposite direction. It was the long way around, through the slums to the stairwell, then back to the Stars, but I led and Lock followed without protest. He was quiet jogging along the banks, past my old building. We cut through the market square and up the main road, Lock stopping to pick up a stray token.
“I heard they don’t use these up there,” he said. “No paper money at all, just... they keep track, somehow, what you got and what you owe.”
“Then leave that one here. Let someone else find it.” I took the token from him and let it flutter to the ground. “You’ve been quiet. You okay?”
“Yeah. Just…I hate your boss.”
“You and me both.” I looked around for cameras and didn’t see any. I lowered my voice anyway, just in case. “But that’s what I’m talking about. We need to be careful up there. Something’s not—”
“Don’t.” Lock looked tired. “We’re headed up, no matter what. How about you give it a chance before you decide we’re all doomed?”
“You heard him, though. Lazrad knows what she’s doing. He knows something we don’t.”
“Or he wishes he does.” Lock sighed. “Remember what I said about Samson, how we weren’t exactly friends? I knew him better than anyone, and I still couldn’t be sure—he’d act like your buddy, then whatever you told him, he’d spread it around. If you kept quiet, he’d make something up. That’s what your boss is doing, telling the story he wants to hear. The one where he wins and you lose. I doubt he’s even met Lazrad, much less knows what she’s thinking.”
I frowned, frustrated. I couldn’t argue with that, exactly—Miron did like to gossip, loved to seem in the know. He’d drop names like candy, but in the end, he was nobody, more Dirt than Sky. Still, even gossips stumbled on the truth every once in a while.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” I said. “Go in with your eyes open.”
“I will if you will.” Lock picked up his pace, and I trotted to keep up. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “We’re in this together.” He reached the stairwell ahead of me and held the door to let me through. Our elbows brushed, and I felt lonely. Lock was physically with me, but in this together? He and Ona were the same, a rationalization for everything. They’d hide from the truth till it killed them.
I followed Lock up the stairs and to the edge of the Stars.
“This is me,” he said. He stopped outside a red door, decorated with leaves and twigs.
“I’m further on.” I didn’t know what to say, so I hugged him instead, a quick, awkward squeeze.
“See you tomorrow,” said Lock. He grinned, wide and cheery, barely a hint of worry showing through. I watched him head inside.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered, but the Dirt-beat drowned me out, the pulse of the factory and the hum of the lights, the murmur of water in the pipes. I’d never hear it again, if Lazrad had her way. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Tomorrow.

Chapter Eight
“Hold still.” Mom grabbed my shirt and tugged it down sharply. She’d been poking at me all morning, me and Ona both, smoothing imaginary wrinkles and slapping dust from our cuffs. Now, crowded into our dressing room, awaiting our grand entrance, her fussing had reached fever pitch.
“You can’t charge about the way you do, up in Sky. Look at the Lofties—they’re never in a hurry.” She sauntered a few paces, swinging her hips side to side. “More like this, see? Let’s see you try it.”
Ona gave it a shot, mincing about the dressing room. I stayed where I was, uncomfortable in Mom’s hand-me-downs. She’d deemed my best pants too frayed, my sharpest shirt too casual. Now I stood starched to the eyeballs, in a high collar years out of style. My pants were too tight, and they pinched at the waist.
“You too, Myla. Give it a try.”
“That’ll do.” Dad took Mom’s arm and guided her to the couch. “You don’t know what it’s like up there any better than she does. Stand back. Let her breathe.”
“I heard bad means good up there—like, if you say something’s bad, that means it’s good.” Ona peered through the curtain, at the crowd gathered in the square. “But radioactive means bad, so—”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” Dad pulled her back from the curtain. I couldn’t read his expression, brows beetled together, lips turned up. He looked sad and proud, a little scared. I could see his hands shaking. “All you need to know—” His voice caught, and he swallowed. “All you need to know is, you’ve made it. This is security, for you and for us. So whatever happens, don’t worry about us. Be happy. Be proud. You have the world at your feet.”
I hunched over like he’d stuck a knife through me. My stomach hurt. My heart hurt.
“Myla? You okay?”
“My pants are too tight.” I tugged at my belt. Forced a smile. It wouldn’t do any good, burdening Dad with my suspicions. What good would it do him, picturing an incinerator up there, or a prison, or a bullet? It’d just hurt him and Mom, and I’d done enough of that. “Sorry,” I said. “Just nervous, I guess. Never thought I’d see Sky.”
“Have some water,” said Mom. “Come and sit with me, and—”
Outside, the crowd roared. I peeked past the curtain and saw Prium had taken his place, dead center on the podium. To his left stood the elevator that’d take us to Sky. Behind him hung a glass panel, big and black and solid, like a door turned on