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### Chapter 0: Spliced Threads
Elias pinned Etta against the corridor wall, the metal cold through his hoodie. Dust motes swirled under a flickering overhead light, the air thick with rust from unused vents. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer.
She tasted of synthetic mint from her ration gum, her lips soft against his stubble. Elias’s hands slid to her waist, gripping the worn fabric of her jacket. The arcology stretched empty around them, levels below silent except for distant drone hums. No one to interrupt.
Etta’s breath caught sharply as he kissed her neck, her pulse quick under his mouth. She arched, her short black hair brushing his cheek. “Elias... here? Really?”
He nodded, words lost. Her legs wrapped around him, the weight familiar after weeks of stolen moments. Heat built between them, her nails tracing his back under the shirt. The corridor’s chill faded, replaced by her warmth.
She laughed low, tugging his hoodie zipper down. “You’re insatiable.” Her hands explored, firm and urgent, drawing a gasp from him. Elias pressed harder, their bodies aligning in the dim glow.
The light stuttered, casting shadows across her fair skin. He kissed her again, deeper, her response matching his need. Hands roamed, breaths ragged, the world narrowing to this.
Then, darkness claimed the details.
Elias lay tangled in the thin sheets, the arcology’s hum vibrating through the walls of his unit. Etta’s body pressed warm against his side, her curves soft under his palm as he traced the line of her hip. The air carried a faint tang of sweat and recycled filters, the single overhead light dimmed to a glow that barely reached the corners.
His fingers threaded into her dark curls, the strands coiling around his knuckles like forgotten wires. Two years—stolen meets in empty corridors, shared rations over cracked screens. She shifted, her fair skin brushing his chest.
“What are you thinking?” Etta murmured, voice low, eyes half-closed.
Elias paused, hand stilling in her hair. The words had built for months, fed by the reports scrolling endless on his terminal. “Kids. Us having one.”
She tensed, propping on an elbow. Her green eyes sharpened in the dim. “Kids? Now?”
“Yeah.” He sat up slightly, sheet pooling at his waist. “We’ve been together almost two years. The world’s contracting—280 million left, dropping fast. Coalition says fertility’s at 1.3. What if we... built something? A family, against all this emptiness.”
Etta pulled back, curls falling across her face. “Built something? Elias, that’s not us. I’m grid maintenance—fixing power nodes, keeping sectors lit. Sovereignty means choosing that, not... burdens.”
“It’s not a burden.” His voice edged higher. “It’s purpose. I feel like we’re sidelined. But with you—”
“Purpose?” She cut in, tone sharpening. “Coalition incentives steer women to work, research. Kids drag on resources, careers. I like what we have—simple, no ties that cost.”
He exhaled, chest tight. “No ties? After two years?”
She rolled away, facing the wall. “I’m tired. Let’s sleep.”
The unit fell silent, save for the distant drone whir. Elias stared at the ceiling, her back a barrier. Tension hung thick, unspoken fractures spreading.
Morning light filtered through the cracked window panel, gray and unrelenting. Elias stirred, reaching for Etta, but her side was cool. She sat at the bed’s edge, communicator in hand, back still turned.
Her side was empty, the fabric cool where her warmth had been. She sat at the bed’s edge, back to him, the communicator clutched in her lap. Her curls hung loose, shoulders rigid under her tank top.
“Etta?” His voice cracked, sleep-rough. He propped on an elbow, sheet sliding down. The tension from last night lingered, thick as dust.
She didn’t turn. “Check your inbox.”
He fumbled for his device on the floor, fingers numb. The screen lit up, a single message loaded: plain text, no header.
*Elias, this isn’t working. Kids are a drag on sovereignty—I’m choosing my grid work. Don’t contact me. Etta.*
The words blurred for a second. He read them again, chest tightening. “What the hell? After everything—just a message?”
She stood then, pulling on her jacket with sharp tugs. Her green eyes met his briefly, flat and distant. “It’s done. I meant what I said last night.”
“You can’t just—” He swung his legs over the edge, standing too fast. The room spun faintly, the air stale. “Two years, Etta. We talked about a future.”
Her jaw set. “Future? In this? Population dropping to 200 million by 2100, everything automated. I fix grids to keep lights on— that’s my pull. Not... this.”
He stepped closer, but she backed toward the door. “So I’m sidelined? Obsolete?”
“Everyone is.” Her voice softened a fraction, then hardened. “Goodbye, Elias.”
The door hissed shut, sealing her out. He stared at it, device heavy in his hand. The unit felt larger, emptier, echoes bouncing off bare walls. He deleted the message, but the ache stayed.
A faint tug stirred deep in his chest—not grief, something else. Subtle, like a signal from afar, pulling toward... what? Not her. He exhaled, slumping back onto the bed.
