Chapter 1

The air in the room was stale. My throat burned.

The phone alarm went off at six. The only sound in the whole sleeping building of Wisma Derrida.

I grabbed the towel. Five minutes under the water was enough to make sure I was still human.

A rented room, three meters by three. My entire world. A thin mattress. A small table beside it. On the table, an old milk tin.

I tipped the tin out onto the mattress. Coins and folded notes, a dry little rattle.

Five thousand. Ten thousand. Fifteen thousand.

Rp15,000.

My stomach growled. Loudly.

Enough for the bus. Or breakfast. Never both.

Heat climbed into my face as I stared at the money. My jaw locked.

I scooped it up fast, before I could change my mind.

“It’s fine. I can take it.”

Out the door. Down the wooden stairs that creaked on every step. The coffee stall at the end of the alley was already open. Vera was rinsing glasses.

“Black coffee.”

She poured it thick and dark into a reused plastic cup. Her eyes slid over me from the corner. The look that said I was nobody.

I drank it standing up.

Bitter. Harsh. Like chewing bark.

The caffeine went in. My head pounded. My empty stomach stung.

Five thousand. I set the cup down and walked out of the narrow alley toward the bus stop.

An old bus pulled in. The doors opened with a loud hydraulic groan. I climbed on.

Ten thousand. Back row. The sun was already hot through the window.

Arcadia City rose up ahead. Towers. Video billboards selling the perfect life. This city wasn’t built for me, and here I was anyway.

Glossy cars slid past with black windows that reflected the cracked pavement.

The bus shuddered over every joint in the road, and my body swayed with it. My hand gripped the seat rail. My palm was dry.

People outside walked fast. Neat. Busy. They looked like parts of a world that worked.

A deep breath. The air on the bus was thick with old engine and dust.

“It’s fine,” I whispered again. Quieter. “I can take it.”

In the corner of the window glass, my face was pale. Hollow eyes. Hair a mess.

My mother’s letter came back to me. Anya, you’re wild grass. Wild grass doesn’t die when it’s trampled.

The bus stopped. The Ministry of Finance stood right in front of me, a massive glass tower looming over the canvas food stalls wedged into the alley beside it.

I stepped down onto the sidewalk. The bitterness of the coffee still sat on my lips. I bit the inside of my cheek. Don’t fall apart here.

Breathe. Deep.

Then walk in.

In the marble lobby, a big security guard looked me up and down. From my worn-out shoes to the faded blazer, the only one I had brought from Verida Island.

His tone said everything.

“Are you lost, miss?”