The Golden Cage

The elevator ride to the top of the Spire took three minutes. In that time, the air pressure changed enough to make Renna’s ears pop twice.

She stood with her hands clasped in front of her gray uniform, staring at the polished steel doors. She was Number 749. That was the number stamped on her wrist. She had been a Debt-Bound for three years, scrubbing floors in the Lower Sectors to pay off a family debt she couldn't remember incurring.

The chemical suppression—the "Blank"—kept her docile. It took away the *why* and left only the *what*. What she had to do: Serve. Obey. Survive.

The doors slid open with a soft chime.

Renna stepped out onto a floor of white marble that looked like ice. The Penthouse was a glass box suspended in the clouds, far above the smog and misery of the city below. It was filled with things Renna knew were expensive but didn't understand: statues of headless women, heavy velvet drapes, and the smell of ozone and filtered air.

"Come in."

The voice came from the center of the room.

Renna walked forward, head bowed, as she had been trained.

A young man stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the gray horizon. He was dressed in the sharp, black silk suit of a Syndicate heir. When he turned, Renna felt a strange, sharp throb behind her eyes.

He was young—maybe nineteen. He had dark, messy hair and eyes the color of a bruised sky. He didn't look like the other Masters she had served. He didn't look arrogant. He looked terrified.

"Look at me," he commanded. His voice wasn't harsh; it was rough, like he hadn't used it in days.

Renna raised her eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

Renna searched the fog in her mind. The Blank was a thick, gray wall. " You are Master Kaelen. The contract holder."

Kaelen flinched. A muscle feathered in his jaw. "Master," he repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Is that all?"

"I am sorry, Master. My memory is... compliant."

Kaelen closed his eyes for a second, looking as if she had struck him. Then he took a breath and stepped aside, revealing a large, black instrument dominating the center of the room. It had rows of black and white keys.

A piano. An artifact from the Old World.

"Sit," Kaelen ordered.

Renna obeyed, sitting on the velvet bench. The keys reflected her pale, hollow face.

"Play," Kaelen said.

Renna froze. Her hands rested on her lap. "I... I do not have that function, Master. I am trained in domestic maintenance and—"

"You know how to play," Kaelen interrupted. He walked closer, his presence radiating a heat that made Renna’s skin prickle. "Your mind forgets, Renna. But your hands? Your hands remember. Play."

He placed a sheet of yellowed paper on the stand. It was covered in dots and lines that meant nothing to her.

"Play," he whispered, "like you used to."

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