The overseer's hand closed around my upper arm like a vice and marched me out of the shed before the morning horn even finished sounding. I didn't resist. I counted the steps instead. One hundred and forty-seven from my usual corner to the edge of the fields. Then another two hundred and nine across open ground toward the main building I had only ever seen from a distance.
I had never been inside.
My eyes moved constantly, mapping everything before we even reached the heavy wooden door. Three separate exits visible from the approach path—one main door, one side passage near the storage sheds, and a narrow servants' entrance at the rear. East-facing window with iron bars that looked newer than the rest of the structure. The overseer's key ring hung from his belt, twelve keys total, the largest one worn from constant use.
The door swung open.
Inside smelled of roasted meat, polished wood, and faint incense—nothing like the sour sweat and berry rot of the sheds. Thick carpets covered the floor. A long table dominated the center of the room, piled with ledgers and half-empty plates. And behind that table sat the owner.
Grelt.
He was enormous, flesh spilling over the edges of a reinforced chair. His clothes carried the cut and fabric of Zone 1—deep crimson tunic with silver thread, rings on nearly every finger. He had never stepped foot into the actual berry fields. I could tell by the softness of his hands and the way he breathed through his mouth like the air in here was too thin for him.
Grelt barely glanced up when we entered. His attention stayed fixed on the man standing across from him—Kael, the Traveller, leaning casually against the table with that same intrigued half-smile from last night.
"Three days," Kael said smoothly, placing a small pouch of coins on the table. It clinked heavily. "Standard rate for temporary reassignment. I'll return her in good condition."
Grelt waved a fat hand, already bored. "Take her. She's just another picker. The contract chain through Seraphine Voss handles the paperwork. I bought the franchise rights fair and square—don't need to know the details. As long as the daily quota doesn't drop too much, she's yours."
No one looked at me. Not once.
I stood perfectly still in the middle of the room while they negotiated over my time like I was a spare tool or a rented wagon. My eyes kept working. Three exits confirmed. The east window had a weak latch. The overseer's key ring now hung on a hook by the door—carelessly placed while he scratched his neck. Kael's massive Grimoire Pack rested on the floor beside his boot, leather shifting slightly as if it were alive.
Grelt counted the coins with plump fingers, then pushed a crumpled receipt across the table. "Done. Enjoy the little ghost. She doesn't talk much."
Kael inclined his head politely. "Appreciated."
The transaction ended as quickly as it began. Grelt returned to his breakfast. The overseer grunted and left without another word. Kael picked up his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and gestured for me to follow.
We stepped back outside into the morning light. The blue barrier shimmered on the horizon like always. Kael walked a few paces ahead, then slowed until we moved side by side along the edge of the fields, away from prying ears.
"You were digging graves last night," he said without preamble, voice calm and measured. "I watched you test the soil. I want to know why."
I said nothing.
He continued as if my silence was expected. "I'll pay you. Extra. Beyond what I gave Grelt. Information has value. Cooperation has value."
I kept my eyes on the ground ahead, counting my steps out of habit. Twenty-three so far.
"I'm a slave," I answered flatly. "You already paid for me."
Kael laughed—a low, genuine sound that carried no mockery, only amusement. "True enough. Still, incentives matter. Even for someone who counts everything."
He stopped walking. I stopped with him.
Kael reached into his Grimoire Pack and withdrew the slim journal. The pages flipped open on their own until he found the right one. He turned it toward me.
My breath caught for half a second.
It was a map.
Not the vague shape of the fields I had built in my head from counting steps and rows. This was detailed. Precise lines showing the circular boundary of Zone 0, the placement of all seven sheds, the main building, and then—beneath everything—layers of lines I had never seen before.
Tunnels.
Old tunnels. Pre-dating the berry fields. Some ran deep under the graves I had found. Others branched toward the barrier itself. Faded markings noted collapsed sections, possible entrances, and strange symbols I couldn't read.
"I need these surveyed," Kael said quietly, watching my face. "Properly. Someone who knows how to dig without drawing attention. Someone who already understands that the ground here gives different returns depending on what you disturb."
I stared at the map. My fingers itched to trace the lines. I had never seen a map of anywhere before. Not the zone. Not the world beyond the barrier. Nothing.
The tunnels could be nothing. They could be old storage. They could be drainage.
Or they could be a way out.
Kael closed the journal slowly, but not before I caught the second circled note on the facing page.
ACQUISITION
He tucked the book away and adjusted the strap of his pack, still wearing that calm, curious smile.
"Three days," he said. "Help me map what's beneath this cage, and I'll make sure the numbers in your head start moving faster than the System ever intended."
The blue barrier loomed in the distance, beautiful and impassable as always.
But for the first time, I was looking at something beneath it.