Page 1 of The Cousins and the Brunette

Chapter One

BRYNN AND THE ROTTING VEGETABLES

A veil of mist hung over the crumbling edges of New Boston, curling its ghostly fingers through the shattered glass windows of derelict buildings. I trudged down the streets, my boots crunching on a carpet of debris that had once been someone’s home. The sky was an iron gray, the kind that threatened rain but held back just enough to keep you hoping. Stray dogs with their ribs pressing against dull fur scavenged alongside us, the resilience of life in the deterioration.

Sometimes it seemed like the city’s decay matched my own fractured hopes, each step a reminder of how far we’d fallen. But I couldn’t let Kay see that. She needed me to be strong, even when I felt like I was held together with nothing more than stubborn will and duct tape.

A loose brick skittered away under my younger sister’s worn shoe.

“Kay, watch your step.”

My sister, a wispy shadow trailing behind me, nodded solemnly. At twelve, Kay’s frame was slight, the angles of her bones sharp beneath the layer of too-big, patched-up clothes she wore—remnants I’d scavenged from the trash bins of those better off. Her light brown hair, so like our mother’s, ruffled in the wind, strands sticking to her face.

The neon lights glimmered erratically, creating an otherworldly glow that painted the city in strokes of artificial day and night. They pulsed above us, the heartbeat of a world divided—the Elites basking in their radiance while we existed in the shadows they cast. I gazed upward, viewing the lines of towering skyscrapers that clawed at the heavens, opulent and unattainable.

Those lights, those buildings – they were like a slap in the face, a constant reminder of what we’d never have. I wanted to tear them down, brick by brick, until everyone was on the same level. Except that was a pipe dream, and I knew it. Dreams didn’t put food in our bellies or shoes on our feet.

“Doesn’t it make you angry, Brynn? That the Elites have so much while we have so little?” Kay’s voice was soft with a confusion beyond her years.

“Anger’s a luxury, Kay,” I said, the bitterness evident even to my own ears. “But yeah, it does.”

“Tell me again about the Elites. Why can’t we just ask them for help?”

I scoffed, scanning the alley for anything of value. “The Elites? They’re parasites, sucking the city dry. They rule from up high, uncaring that people like us scrounge in the dirt. They believe they’re chosen, destined for greatness while we’re left to fight over scraps.”

Then I thought of our own Elite relatives, the ones who’d turned their backs on us when we needed them most. Family meant nothing when status was on the line. Their rejection still stung, a wound that refused to heal.

She kicked a tin can out of the way. “Couldn’t we become one of them? Change things from inside?”

“Sweet dreams, Kay,” I replied curtly, though my heart ached with the same wishful thinking. “That’s not how this world works.”

“Then how does it work, Brynn?” Her large, questioning eyes sought mine, searching for answers I didn’t have.

I frowned, pulling a dented can from a pile of rubbish. “I’ve told you before. Survival. It’s about making it through another day.”

I wished I had better answers for her, something more inspiring than ‘don’t die.’ False hope was a dangerous thing in New Boston. It could get you killed faster than a knife in the back.

She sighed. “Is that all we’re doing? Surviving?”

I looked at her, really looked at her, the hope in her wide-eyed expression and the grime on her cheeks. “No, Kay. We’re going to live. Really live. One day, I’ll get us out of here. I swear it.”

I had no idea how I’d keep that promise, but for Kay, I’d find a way. I had to.

Her hand found mine, small and trusting. “I believe you, Brynn. I always do.”

“Good.” I squeezed her hand, the burden of my promise heavy on my shoulders.

“Look, over there,” I whispered, pointing toward an alley where there was a heap of discarded crates. “Let’s check it out.”

The sight of those crates made my pulse jump. It was like stumbling upon buried treasure, except our treasure was more likely to be moldy bread than gold doubloons. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and in this concrete jungle, we were definitely beggars.

Kay and I moved silently, our steps practiced and cautious. Years of scavenging had taught me to be wary of every shadow, to look twice at anything that seemed too good to be true. The city was a warren of pitfalls and worst of all…predators.

“Stay close.”

We approached the crates. My hand hovered near the small knife strapped to my belt—a meager defense, but better than nothing.

I thought about how ridiculous we must look, tip-toeing towards a pile of garbage like it held the secrets of the universe. But in our world, it might as well have. One man’s trash is another man’s dinner, after all.

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