When Dante approached the building, he saw the number of people on the sidewalk. A car had been pushed farther away, with almost five men dragging it. He didn’t see either of the two guards Clara had assigned to patrol the street, but as he got closer to the entrance, he ran into Marcus.

The shooter walked out, huffing, without even greeting him. Dante stepped through the door with his backpacks and bags. Inside, the hall had been reinforced a few days earlier. There hadn’t been smooth cement or pillars before. Clerk had done great work over the week, making the place easier to move through and with fewer holes in the walls.

It had been made clear that the first floor was only for people to access the Predial Islands. The appearance had changed, but the idea that people had to stay up high to avoid the Felroz was still deeply ingrained in their minds.

When he reached the fourth and fifth floors, he found Clerk adjusting a stretcher for the patients. There, on the fifth, Clara had made it clear that it would be used for the sickest, children in poor condition, and pregnant women. What Dante didn’t expect was to find Meliah sitting while his younger brother was being moved to a good stretcher.

Degol Jones's hands were deformed, darkened. His flesh still smelled of burns, and his nails were gone. If it had been just the skin, Dante would understand. The closer he got to his body, the more he realized that whatever hit him was far beyond a simple attack or strike.

"The whole body was deformed." His voice came out deep. He placed his hand on Degol’s shoulder and dragged it up to his neck, where there was a thin cut from his ear down to his torso. "He’s still breathing."

Clara appeared on the other side of the stretcher, staring at him. Behind her were Simone and Meliah. Dante, however, touched Degol’s face, pressing his cheek inward.

"The flesh isn’t rotten yet. It can be restored. And his hair didn’t burn, so he won’t go bald when he wakes up."

"When he wakes up?" Meliah asked. "You think he’s going to wake up? I came from far away to…"

"I don’t really care where you came from, to be honest." Dante stretched out the backpacks and placed them on the table beside him. "I know you didn’t just pass by. You came to ask for your brother to stay here during the winter."

Meliah didn’t even have time to explain himself. He didn’t need to. It was the logical choice. As temperatures dropped, the industrial sector where he lived would run out of supplies and people. From what Clara had said in one of the meetings, half of his workers had been taken away, and the other half didn’t trust that Meliah Jones alone could protect them.

Two days ago, during one of his rounds, he saw a teenage couple trying to sneak closer to Clara’s building. When Dante stopped them, one of them answered:

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"We want a place to stay, one where we don’t have to work ourselves to death."

They could have gone to Luma, but she didn’t have resources from the urban sector. Jix had confirmed that too. The old man on his back informed him daily about the meetings, but not that Meliah and Degol would show up. That’s why the old man was also surprised.

"Marcus is angry about this." Jix gestured slightly toward Degol on the stretcher. "You should have talked to him before making your decision, Lady Clara."

"I didn’t have time. Degol was too injured, and winter is arriving faster than I expected. Clerk is still on the fifth floor, but we need him to work from the bottom up so we don’t take risks."

Dante removed the two bags from his waist and placed them on the table again.

"I may not have made the best delivery today. Here’s the list."

Clara took the small piece of paper. Meliah didn’t hide his curiosity and read it as well. His expression changed from indifference to confusion, then to disbelief.

"Great, Dante." Clara smiled and reached out her hand to him. Dante took it, gently squeezing her thin fingers. "This will be useful for everyone. Thank you again."

Meliah then took the paper from Clara, examining it again.

"There’s a lot here." His voice was full of reluctance. "How did you…?"

"By working hard."

Meliah stared at him and then shook the list.

"Even if it’s simple for you, these are items we haven’t produced in years. Where are you finding all this? You could help more than just…"

Dante looked at him sideways, showing a smile.

"Help your people more? Look, I don’t want to be rude again, but I work to pay for my stay here. That’s all."

He started to leave, leaving them alone. Clara asked Meliah to hand over the paper and sit down again. Once they did, Clara let the silence linger for a moment, allowing her visitor to breathe and let go of the previous tension.

Clara, who had learned from an early age to discern the tone of a lie, saw the truth in that man’s eyes before he even spoke. It was the look of a castaway clinging to the last piece of floating wood in a stormy sea.

"Why did you come to me, Meliah?" She held her own leg. Showing weakness before a man whose wealth came not from old money but from material would be foolish.

"Because you’re the only one who can understand me."

Clara tilted her head, eyes fixed on him.

"Desperate men say many things. Not always the truth."

"Not all of them need to be," Meliah replied with a frankness that surprised her. "Just enough for you to listen."

With a slow hand gesture, she indicated for him to continue. Not an order, but a sign of patience.

It wasn’t just the gray weather that made the atmosphere uncomfortable. Meliah wasn’t the type of man to make requests—he wouldn’t even ask.

"Whatever attacked my brother is still out there. Degol was never the best of men, but he would give his life for me, just as he gave his blood and sweat for our sector and every soul he helped build it."

"Dante always insists he isn’t rude and keeps saying he doesn’t care where you came from, Meliah. And to be honest, after all the problems, I feel like he’s right. Your story isn’t going to make me feel pity or compassion."

Meliah leaned back in the chair, staring at his dying brother on the stretcher. Degol’s chest rose with effort, each movement almost like a lost battle. The entire floor was poorly lit, casting shadows on the exhausted man’s features.

"A long time ago, Clara, Luma told me you took care of people with nothing but your goodwill. I don’t know what I could offer when my brother is in this state. He was always the hot-headed one. He would kneel before you, so if you want, I’ll do the same…"

"For what? Kneeling will bring your brother back? No. Will it fix what you did before? Also no." Clara leaned in closer to him. "If you want to keep your brother here, Meliah, then let’s talk business."