NABC Chapter 268: Ranked Streets and Rooftop Tea
Chapter 268: Ranked Streets and Rooftop Tea
Chapter 268: Ranked Streets and Rooftop TeaCharlie was out cold.
The kind of sleep only kids and the deeply exhausted could manage—mouth slightly open, one sock off, cheek pressed to my shoulder. I adjusted my grip slightly, keeping one arm steady beneath his legs and the other behind his back. He didn’t stir. His tablet, now inactive and covered in dinosaur doodles, was tucked under my arm like contraband.
The apartment was quiet behind me. Camille and Sienna had taken to cleaning without being asked, Evelyn had gone back to her room, and Alexis was deep in prep for her scan. It was the most peace we’d had in weeks.
But peace wasn’t portable. I had to carry it.
The city felt different at night.
My boots tapped down clean marble as I stepped out of the tower lobby, careful not to wake the boy in my arms. A-Rank zones were made to be quiet. Everything had sound-dampening panels, privacy fences, polished steel and shimmer-glass. Every car was electric, every pedestrian quiet, as if noise itself had been taxed out of existence. Lights came from underground fixtures instead of street lamps. A-Rank zones didn’t just look expensive—they looked curated. Like someone had trimmed and filtered the entire world.
I flagged a transport. The capsule was black, windowless, government-insured. The driver didn’t ask questions—just scanned my ID and nodded, eyes widening slightly at the Jobmaster title. I gave him Charlie’s address.
"Sector 50, C-Rank border," he noted.
"Drive slow," I said. "He’s sleeping."
The vehicle moved like it was gliding on breath.
D-Rank neighborhoods were next.
They were like faded paintings of something meant to be beautiful. Apartment blocks built decades ago, repainted every few years, now flaking again. Old vending machines on the corners, half of them out of service. Cars still used fuel here. Real tires. You could hear engines sputtering through cracked exhausts and overworked fans. Windows had metal grates, not privacy screens. Neon signs flickered even when they were off.
It wasn’t slums. Not like the F-Rank district I came from. But it was close to forgetting how to pretend it wasn’t.
People in D-Rank walked fast and didn’t make eye contact.
They were tired.
You could smell recycled oil and boiled noodles in the air.
There was a time I would’ve called it home.
C-Rank looked like a compromise with dignity.
Buildings weren’t pretty, but they weren’t falling apart. Cracked paint was replaced with cheap matte. Sidewalks were real stone again, not pressed gravel. Most apartments had balconies, even if they were small. Neon signs were replaced with digital panels. The vending machines worked. There were cafes that stayed open past ten. You could hear music from a few open windows—jazz, soft rock, domestic pop songs with repetitive choruses and cheap synth.
Most importantly, people here looked up. Still weary, but with a trace of aspiration.
Charlie’s building was a little older than the rest. Mid-rise. Tan walls. Laundry lines zigzagging across the top floor. Lights in about half the windows. A woman waited by the entry, looking out past the railing.
Her eyes caught mine instantly.
Then dropped to the bundle in my arms.
Then went wide.
She moved fast, down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
"Charlie?" she whispered.
"He’s alright," I said gently. "Fell asleep mid-sentence. He’s safe."
"Oh, alright."
I stepped closer. Her eyes flicked up again,
"You don’t have to thank me."
"I do. Because the world’s not kind. Not usually. Especially to kids like him."
I didn’t have an answer to that. Just finished my tea and leaned back on the couch, letting the warmth settle in my ribs.
When I finally stood to leave, Charlie hadn’t stirred. Lily walked me to the door.
"If you ever need anything," she said quietly, "even just... a place to sit for five minutes, you’re welcome here."
"I appreciate that."
"You’re not what I expected," she added. "I thought people like you were untouchable. But you looked tired."
"I am," I said.
She smiled softly. "Then rest. Even if it’s just for tonight."
I stepped outside.
The air had grown cooler. A light breeze tugged at the edges of my coat. Streetlights buzzed quietly overhead. I passed the corner where a bus used to stop and the bench where someone had carved a heart into the metal siding. Just ahead, a telephone pole leaned slightly to one side, wrapped with old tape and flaking flyers.
A new poster had been stapled to it.
Rough paper. Black ink.
A face in shadow.
No name.
Just one word:
"WANTED."
I looked at it for a beat too long.
Then kept walking.
Letting the wind carry it behind me.