THE SHARED LOAF: A girl in a camel coat gave half a loaf of bread to a starving child on the frozen street. She didn't know she was rescuing her lost cousin—or starting a war.

We navigated through the crowded bazaar of Sector 9, keeping our heads down and weaving through the throngs of cybernetic traders, street vendors, and armed mercenaries.

I led Clara toward a tall, dilapidated clock tower made of scrap iron that loomed over the black waters of the canal—a place marked with tiny, barely visible chalk symbols carved into the alley bricks. I recognized the marks; they were the vagrant trail signs used by street children across the lower sectors.

We climbed a spiral iron fire escape up six flights until we reached a heavy metal door painted with a black crow silhouette.

I picked up a rusty iron bolt lying on the grating and knocked four times: two short, two long.

A small slit in the iron door slid open. A pair of sharp, mistrustful eyes framed by grease-stained brass goggles stared down at us.

"We don't take beggars after midnight," a raspy boy's voice barked from inside. "Get lost before I turn the steam pipes on you."

I stepped into the dim neon light leaking from the street below, pulling back my hood and showing the silver crescent scar beneath my collarbone, along with the brass key ring Captain Hayes had given us.

"Tell Marcus that Nora and Clara are at the door," I said calmly. "And tell him the estate on the hill is gone."