Page 2 of Born for Lace

Her lips touch my ear. “Tomar… Find Tomar. At the docks.Please. Be brave.” A heavy breath escapes her, soft andfinal.

The sudden crash of a door being kicked in jolts me upright, my gaze snapping toward the exit. But I can’t go yet— I haven’t had time to think this through. Not properly.

“Maple.” Through terror-filled eyes, I stare back at my dying friend, needing her help,needing her.

Don’t leave me alone!

I step backward.

But I am not alone. Shaky and in shock, my eyes drift to the thing in my arms. “What… What do I call it?”

“Spero.”

The floor seems to tilt when I hear the single word escape her on a long gasp, and I shuffle to keep my footing.

Spero…Spero means hope, and I only know such things because Maple can read in five old-world languages.

My friend dies with hope.

For what?

For what!

We are Lace Girls—we have no identity without a Trade man. Our Purpose revolves entirely around making them happy. To accompany, relieve, and soothe them. We are the first mental health initiative of The Trade, imperative to The Cradle. Our Trade has halved the accounts of depression, and suicides are almost non-existent.

But Maple… She is—was—different. She had ideas of individuality and self-discovery. Spoke about conspiracies that travel the deserts. Communities filled with Common where people exist without Meaningful Purpose… I can barely think the words, they sound so strange and unsafe.

She had a wild imagination, and she shared it with us—her Collective—when we gathered for sewing and conversation. The other Lace Girls and I enjoyed her fantastical mind like children might fairytales. We enjoyed them knowing we were safe, secure, and all meant for Meaningful Purpose.

We are no longer safe. Now, the tower is breaking in two. The Xin De—the genetically engineered humans—are turning on us. And Common humans are poisoning their kind in retaliation. The Marshals are breaking down our doors to end the chaos and make arrests, and— They will seize the infant.

Run.

Swallowing tears, I force myself away from her bedside and rush to my largebeibaobag. Can’t dwell. Can’t pause. I grit my teeth and ram my grief down. Can’t allow myself to feel.

With one frantic hand, I cram the bag with random items, clothes, Trade stamps, a toothbrush, ingredients for my tea, and a small saw Maple uses to prune leaves.

The thing in my arms mewls, spurring me on—I need to hide it. Quick.

I wrap him in a small shirt and zip my jacket over him, the hazy sun is hot through the window to my side, the infant—Spero—might get too warm in my jacket, but the wind outside is a far worse fate, so I keep moving.

I sling thebeibaobag onto my back and feel the weight of my decision to run from all that I know as a physical thing.

If I don’t do this… What happens to me if I stay? What happens tohim? I regard the pink-faced thing in my jacket. I don't want this, but I don’t have time to consider it. My Ward is dead, our home ransacked by men in black shrouds.Run.

A gun rattles from somewhere close by, echoing like a knell through the corridors and halls.

I bolt, taking the hundreds of steps down the deserted building, grabbing the Redwind-mask from its hook by the exit and pushing through the steel, air-lock door into the wind.

The sand slashes at me as I slide the mask on. The salty air whirls my red hair around my shoulders and face, making it hard to see, but I know how to get to the docks. I lower my head and walk, urgency propelling me toward the tower square.

The streets are eerie. Empty. Quiet but for the rattle of the occasional gun and the growl of a tank somewhere in the near distance.

As I cross the road, the wind circles me like a spoon around a porcelain cup. The sound is too familiar. Too sad. It’s the sound of a Lace Girl going to sleep at night after a cup of Lace Girl Tea. Safe.

Hiding against a wall, I head toward the sound, toward the docks, shadowed by looming buildings. They are overgrown, reaching into the sky, way beyond the haze, blocking the wind as they were designed to do hundreds of years ago.

Sweat gathers on my neck.

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