My first bit of luck in a very long time comes in the form of public stables. I lead the horse into a stall and put some of my precious food supply in his feed bag. I hide the pack in a pile of hay in the corner. Stables are free for visitors for the two days. I’m hoping I won’t be here any longer than that.

“I’ll be back,” I tell the horse. He swishes his tail at me and continues to eat with vigor. I leave his stall, latching it behind me and head out of the stables.

The city is crowded. Stalls line the streets and more people than I’ve ever seen in my life shuffle along the roads. There are guards everywhere I look, easily identified by their black uniforms. Guards standing by the stalls. Watching the streets. Looking out from the thin balconies on each level of the sky scrapers. I keep my eyes down and immerse myself into the crowd. The city seems to be made of two sections. One is made of relatively small buildings, just one or two stories. They expand out in a circle from where I am, the base of the tower of skyscrapers. I walk with the crowd up a spiral upward path towards the second part of the city, the mountain of towers. It seems like this main road travels all the way up to the highest helix. Skinny alleys crisscross between the buildings.

As I walk up the spiral road, I can’t help but think how sickly the people here look. Their skin is gray and their bodies tall and thin, almost as if they’ve used any extra fat to make themselves grow higher. I go up a few spirals before I realize I’m surrounded by only men. They all wear full pants and loose colorful vests. Even the bright colors of these clothes look dark in the city, under the shadows of the tall, twisting buildings. It takes several more tiers before I see any woman. It’s hard to spot them as they move quickly through the streets with great purpose. They all look identical to me, dressed in many layers of colorful fabric. Their bodies are almost entirely covered with the overlapping clothes. Their eyes are painted dark black and they all seem to have masses of wild, bushy hair.

Since I have absolutely no idea where to find Evan, I really only have one option. A woman leading a small child across the streets stops to tie the kid’s shoe. Guess I have to start somewhere.

“Excuse me?” I call to the woman. She ignores me until I’m standing right next to her. Then she only glances at me furtively. “Sorry to bother you,” I tell her. “I’m hoping that you can help me. My name is Javin and I’m looking for someone from the Forsyth named Evan.” I make a split second decision not to say he’s my brother. Ryan and Abbey reacted so volatilely when they found out I was from the Forsyth. I can’t risk it. “He would have arrived on a train with a bunch of other people from the Forest,” I continue. “Have you heard anything about that?”

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The woman scoops her child into her arms with some effort, the child is nine or ten, and races across the street as if I’m carrying some deadly disease. So much for the kindness of strangers. Perhaps I’ll have better luck with someone closer to my age. I walk up the spiral road until I spy a boy in his late teens wearing a green coat speckled with what looks like golden feathers. He is buying flowers from a seller pushing a cart up the road.

“Hey there,” I say, cutting in front of him slightly so he can’t ignore me like the woman. “I’m looking for some information. Have you heard anything about some people arriving on a train from the Forsyth? They would have been brought here by a man with a braid around his neck.”

“I don’t have any money to give you,” the boy says, shoving the change he got from the flower seller into his coat pocket.

“I’m not asking for-

“I don’t have anything for you.” The boy takes his flowers from the seller.

“Look, I just want to–”

“Get out of here or I’ll call the guards,” the boy says, pushing past me. “Get back to the slums, rat!”

Rat? Slums? Somewhere in this city has to be someone who will help me. I walk higher up the spiral, stopping the kindest and most gentle looking people I can find. Grandmothers with puffs of white hair. Boys walking with the sweethearts. Prominent looking men strolling with jeweled canes. Nothing. Some ignore me. Most tell me to get lost. Almost everyone calls me a rat. By the time I reach a large square, seemingly the only flat area in the ever climbing road, I am beyond frustrated. Heat courses through me, an anger that is both new and familiar. I felt it before on the train and now I feel it again. I want to hit something. Physically get information out of someone. I’m able to keep my senses about me. Forcing someone to answer would surely get me kicked out of here.

The square is filled with lounging Delphastians. They sit on metal benches chatting with one another, eating various treats sold from carts around the square. And not one of them is willing to help me I wager. I take a few steps backward and hit a wall. One of the helix sky scrapers towers over me. I place my palms against the dark metal. It’s so smooth and cold it is almost silky. Everything here seems unreal, dream like. I wouldn’t be surprised if the wall suddenly vanished and I fell onto the ground. It is hard for me not to compare it to the Forsyth and the feel of the trees and the grass. I wonder if I had grown up here would I still feel like I was walking through a dream? Probably not.

I go back to scanning the crowd, hoping to identify someone to talk to. It feels pointless. Apparently kids like me aren’t to be helped here. We’re to be sent to the slums, wherever that is. But I can’t give up. If I have to, I’ll talk to every single person in this city. Someone somewhere must know something about Evan. My hands start to shake against the metal. “Get it together,” I mutter. I push myself off the wall and back into the square.

“You know, boy,” a voice drawls from above me. “I can’t figure you out.”