Chapter One

What Remains

Kyra

 

 

 

 

 

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I couldn’t afford the distraction of Lyza sitting cross-legged in the dirt just a few

feet away, but the sickly pallor of her skin gnawed at the edge of my focus anyway.

If she didn’t ease up, she wouldn’t make it through the week, maybe not even the

day. She wiped her brow with the back of a trembling arm, the gesture small and

unsteady, her energy spent from hours of tending the bean row beside mine. Mud

streaked her face, accentuating the deathly cast of her complexion, and a knot of

dread coiled in my gut. I turned away, my jaw tight. I had to work faster. I had to make up for her lagging pace. Falling short of quota wasn’t a mistake. It was a death sentence.

“Stop it,” Lyza growled through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowed as she snapped another handful of yellow beans into her basket. “I can feel you staring. I’m fine. I don’t need you hovering.”
 

My tongue flicked across my cracked lips, the sun sapping the last bit of moisture from my mouth. My shirt clung to my back, soaked clean through, but it was better than blistered flesh. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. Sunburns meant slowed movements, and there was no grace for weakness under vampire rule.
 

I tossed another bundle of green beans into my basket and reached for the weeds crowding the next plant. My basket brimmed with produce. Lyza’s wasn’t even half full. A sigh escaped me, heavy with frustration as I slumped back on my heels. I turned toward her, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
 

“I have to worry about you. Maybe if you took better care of yourself, I wouldn’t need to.”
 

Lyza flung her hands up, voice rising. “And do what, Kyra? What would you have me do?” The sun flared against the bronze bracelet around her wrist, drawing my eye as she held my gaze. “It’s not like we have choices.”
 

As if summoned by the sound of defiance, an enforcer strolled into view, pacing the center row with a predator’s ease. They were human, same as us, but unlike us, they’d sold their loyalty for cooler air, cleaner clothes, and bellies that never starved. Daylight lapdogs in silken uniforms, patrolling the fields with power that wasn’t truly theirs. Most clung to the delusion that if they served long enough, well enough, they might be chosen; bitten, bled into, and brought to death for the honor of rising as fledglings. In truth, the enforcers were already halfway there.
 

This one’s hands rested deep in the pockets of pressed black slacks, his silken shirt was spotless with not a wrinkle out of place. A cooling unit buzzed softly around his neck, funneling a breeze to his face while the rest of us cooked beneath the unrelenting heat. His eyes slid over me, then to Lyza, nearly slumped beside her plants, her fury the only thing keeping her upright. My skin prickled. We both froze, our quarrel dissolving into silence as we watched him pass. The baton at his hip swung with each step, the blunted tip still stained a dried, dark red.
 

My stomach growled into the hush, a reminder of how little we’d eaten, and how much we’d given. We’d get our scraps when the day was done, barely enough to sustain this brutal pace. But like Lyza had said, we didn’t get to choose. We only endured.
 

All around us, the fields were littered with bent backs and blistered hands just like ours, with children barely old enough to walk who tugged weeds from dry soil while the oldest of us all shuffled along rows with hollow eyes. We called them ashfolk. Not out of cruelty, but because their skin took on that ashen hue, like the last flakes of a fire long gone cold. No one said it aloud near them, but we all knew what it meant. The vampires didn’t let the weak linger. Once your body gave more shade than sweat, it was only a matter of time. 
 

No one spoke unless spoken to. The town itself was a patchwork of sagging roofs and scavenged boards, sat slumped at the center of the fields like a wound that never healed. The crops rotated with the seasons, always something ripe, always something needing hands. The cycle never paused. It only took; draining us, year by year, until the strongest broke and the weak simply disappeared.
 

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I muttered, keeping my voice low enough that the wind might steal it away before anyone else could hear. Words like that bordered on treason. “You’re not going to beat this sickness by pouring every last ounce of yourself into the dirt under this heat.”
 

“Not meeting quota would be worse for us all. You know that.”
 

I flicked a glance toward the nearest enforcer, tracking the harvest with slow, voracious steps. “Then at least get another drink,” I said, nodding toward the well a few rows over. “I won’t stop worrying unless I see you hydrate.”
 

She hesitated, wiping sweat from her brow again. I raised mine in return, my brow arched in silent insistence. A groan slipped from her lips, but after a moment, she rose, unsteady but standing, and began the slow walk toward the well. I didn’t breathe until her back was fully to me.
 

Then I moved.
 

With a muffled grunt, I lifted my own basket and dumped it into hers, the weight shifting with a soft thump. I half-tucked my now nearly empty basket beneath the nearest cluster of plants, then raised my hand, signaling the closest enforcer.
Lyza turned from the well, her lips wet, face still drawn, but her expression shifted the moment she saw the setup. Her brows furrowed. Her mouth tightened. She knew. And she was angry. But she was too far away to stop it.
 

The enforcer came to a halt beside me, his boots were polished to a shine even in the dust, and his voice was gruff and disinterested. “What is it?”
 

He nudged Lyza’s basket with the toe of his boot and gave a small nod. “Ah. You’ve reached your quota for this shift.”
 

I shook my head, my fingers twisting the copper charm that hung at my neck. “Not me. My sister.”
 

“Then she can carry it to the cart,” he said without pause, already turning to leave.
 

“Wait!”
 

I cringed the moment the word escaped me. It was too loud, too bold. The enforcer turned slowly, surprise flickering in the fierce blue of his eyes. I dropped my gaze and rounded my shoulders, trying to make myself small beneath the weight of his attention.
 

“She’s not feeling well,” I said, quieter now. “Can I carry it for her instead, then come back to finish my row?”
 

He quirked a brow, but he didn’t answer right away. His gaze slid to Lyza as she reached us, and something subtle shifted in his face. Not annoyance. Not even suspicion. Just... familiarity. She avoided his eyes, but I caught the faintest hitch in her breath before she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
 

His attention dropped to the basket at our feet, then swept the field as though checking for witnesses. Still, none of us spoke. I held my breath as he bent to lift the basket.
 

“You can get back to work,” he said finally. “I’ll transport this bounty to the cart.”
 

He didn’t look at me. He was still watching Lyza. A flicker of something passed between them.
 

“You should go to the cafeteria,” he added. “Rest. Eat. Then head to your quarters until this evening’s summoning.”
 

“Thank you, Cale,” Lyza replied.
 

I blinked. He didn’t correct her. Didn’t even flinch at the sound of his name, though no enforcer had ever offered theirs to us before.
 

Lyza turned on her heel without looking at me. Her steps were careful, measured, and her shoulders were rigid as she walked away.
 

“I don’t have proof of what you’ve done here,” the enforcer, Cale, said once she was out of earshot. His voice was lower now, almost conversational. “As long as you hit quota, I won’t care.”
 

His eyes flicked to the basket I’d hidden, then back to me with no further comment. And just like that, he turned, carrying Lyza’s burden off toward the cart.
 

As my knees hit the dirt again, I ignored the weeds and set to work refilling my basket. Sending Lyza to the cafeteria early brought a flicker of relief, especially knowing that tonight wasn’t her turn to be summoned. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would be enough to let her recover. Even a little.
 

It took hours to gather my quota. By the time I hoisted my basket and dragged it to the cart, my muscles shook with every movement. My hands had gone numb. I’d worked straight through the midday break, trading food for time. If I failed to deliver, I knew that enforcer, Cale, I reminded myself bitterly, would make sure someone paid. And if it wasn’t me, then it would be Lyza.
 

The cafeteria was nearly empty when I pushed through the doors. It used to be part of something called a school, at least that’s what our mother had told us once, long ago. Lyza and I had sat curled on either side of her, identical and small, while she whispered about bright rooms filled with books and with children who played games and asked questions all day. We hadn’t understood most of it. I couldn't ever imagine it. But the wonder in her voice made it seem like magic.
 

Now the walls were cracked and flaking, and the air smelled of damp wood and old metal. The warped floor groaned underfoot, and faded lines were barely visible beneath the grime. Ropes hung from the rafters, strung with dim lights and drying herbs, casting flickering shadows over the vast, empty space. Folding tables lined the sides of the room now, though according to our mother, rows of seats had stretched up along the walls, filled with children who watched others run and play below. It sounded ridiculous. A place built just so kids could watch other kids play? Maybe it had been real once, but I couldn’t imagine it. Not in a world like this.
 

“We’re trying to clean this place up,” one of the kitchen workers muttered from behind the counter. I thought her name was Ashley, but I wasn’t sure. No one really made time to know each other. “What do you want?”
 

“Whatever’s left,” I said, trying not to sound as exhausted as I felt. “I’m not picky. I just need something before nightfall.”
 

Her expression shifted to my wrist, just for a moment, and then she moved. Without complaint, she scraped together a plate: three slices of dry bread, a scoop of mashed peas, four limp carrot sticks, and half a hard-boiled egg.
 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you more,” she said, her voice dragging with fatigue as she turned back to her cleanup. “You’re awfully late. Most of it’s gone.”
 

I stared down at the plate, my hands tightening around its edges.
 

Even this, scraps without scorn, felt strange. Kindness had no place here anymore. No one had the time or strength to spare it. We were all too busy surviving to notice anyone else. But Ashley had noticed.
 

And in a place like this, that kind of mercy was rarer than anything.
 

Those of us who worked the fields lived in the outer ring of town; shacks barely standing, patched with rusted scrap and warped planks, that were more ruin than shelter. They offered no real defense against the cold, the rain, or the hunger that never left. And they did nothing to keep out the nightmares that ruled this place. Still, they were ours, or at least the closest thing we had to it. 
 

At the heart of town stood the old school, a place once meant for learning and safety, or so the stories claimed. Now, it belonged to the enforcers. They lived there in cleaned rooms above the food storage and cafeteria, always within reach of what the rest of us bled to earn. The vampires kept their residence in the old church, nestled along the inner edge of the outer wall like a rot buried in the bones of the town. What once may have been a sanctuary was now a hollow mockery of one, its stained glass shattered and boarded over, its bell tower silent. That place didn’t ring for salvation anymore. It rang for submission.
 

They had taken everything; the land, the history, the meaning behind the buildings. What had once been sacred was now profane. Even our gods, if they’d ever existed, had been pushed out long ago.
 

The bell would toll soon, its sound heavy and low, summoning those of us marked for the evening’s offering.
 

And I was on that list tonight.
 

The last rays of light slipped from the path ahead, and I quickened my pace, wincing with each step. The massive stone walls loomed nearby, casting shadows over the crooked shack I shared with Lyza. Relief washed over me as I shoved myself through the front door. It always stuck in the frame, forcing us to jam a shoulder into it just to squeeze through the narrow gap. The bruises it left were a small price to pay; it was one more barrier between us and whatever might roam the night.
 

“There you are,” Lyza said as I stepped into the main room. “I was starting to get worried.”
 

I straightened, biting back a groan. There was no use letting her see how sore I really was. I pressed a hand to my chest and raised a brow. “Me? You were worried about me?” I let out a short laugh.
 

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the back of the house. Her steps were still unsteady, her skin still far too pale. I stretched my aching shoulders and followed her.
 

It was a single-floor cabin, barely deserving of the word. None of the windows had survived the years, but we’d torn down what remained of the kitchen cabinets to board them up. It hadn’t been easy, but it was necessary, for peace of mind and for survival. We had no heating, and the wind sliced through the walls most nights like a blade of ice.
 

“I’m still pissed at you, I hope you know,” Lyza said as she lowered herself onto the single mattress pressed into the corner of our bedroom. There was no other furniture, but we didn’t need it. We spent so little time here, all we really needed was the mattress and the pile of blankets we huddled beneath for warmth.
 

I sat beside her. “Oh, I know. I just don’t care.”
 

“I was doing just fine.”
 

“Bullshit.” I gestured to her with a flick of my hand. “You’re winded just from greeting me at the door. You’re not fine, Lyza. And if you don’t rest, you won’t beat this. I did what I had to do to give your body a chance.”
 

She didn’t meet my gaze. That was answer enough.
 

“Did you sleep at all this afternoon?” I asked, pulling out my last slice of bread and offering it to her.
 

“I did,” she said, lifting a hand to refuse it.
 

I thrust it forward again. “Take it.”
 

She groaned but finally accepted it and took a bite. The bread crackled between her teeth, dry and stale.
 

“But now you don’t have any time to rest before the bell tolls,” she said, chewing slowly. “You need to take care of yourself too, or you’ll end up just like me.”
 

“I’ll be fine,” I said, watching as she swallowed the last bite. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
 

“I’m assuming you were so late because you made quota?” she asked, still avoiding my eyes. She brushed the leftover crumbs from her palm and tossed them onto the floor beside the bed.
 

I nodded. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have done what I did if I didn’t think I could make it work.”
 

A tear slid down her cheek. I reached out and gently brushed it away.
 

“None of that,” I said, half scolding.
 

Lyza batted my hand aside, her green eyes fierce and bright. “Don’t. You did something stupid today, but you also did something kind. I’m allowed to feel something about that.”
 

I scoffed, uncomfortable with the weight of her gratitude. “You’re my twin. I did what was necessary.”
 

“No,” she said softly, “you did more than you should have. And I’m grateful. I felt like shit out in that field. Still do. But getting a little time to rest? It helped. I can feel it. So... thank you.”
 

I waved a hand at her, turning away. “Stop it.”
 

“I know you hate the mushy stuff,” she said, her voice lighter. “But I love you. And you can’t stop me from saying it. I love you, Kyra.”
 

I didn’t answer. I just turned back toward her and wrapped my arms around her frail shoulders, pulling her close. She felt far too cold in my embrace. When I let go, I draped another blanket over her and tucked it in tightly around her sides, trying to trap what little warmth she had left.
 

She smiled up at me, her mouth parting to speak again, but before she could say a word, the bell rang.
 

The sound rippled through the air, low and guttural, like the grinding of something ancient and hungry. It echoed off the stone walls six times, filling every crack, every space, pressing down on us with its weight. Lyza’s smile vanished. Her mouth snapped shut, and her eyes dropped to the floor.
 

The summoning had begun.