Chapter 208: Chapter 207 - Rooftop Gardens
Aljun’s POV
Aljun kept his head down as he worked, pulling weeds from the pots and trimming the yellowing leaves with careful hands.
The people he followed led him here on the top of a building instead of ground. The rooftops had been turned into gardens with rows of soil laid out across the concrete.
There were only 5 of them working this section and he is sticking out like a sore thumb. The men are in working uniforms, clearly separating him from them, but even if he wants to get out he can’t.
The doors are locked.
He stayed quiet and followed what the others were doing, matching their pace and their movements so he would not stand out.
He got in too easy.
Now he had to keep it that way. Stay here. Follow them later. Blend in when they moved to the dining hall.
Then the thought hit him.
What if someone here knew he doesn’t belong here?
Fuck.
His grip tightened around the stem he was holding.
He would be dead.
"Good day, sir."
The voice came from behind and it made him jump in his own skin.
Fuck.
He kept his head down and worked, but he glanced just enough to see who it was, someone with authority walking down the row and getting closer with each step.
His chest tightened.
They were going to see it.
They were going to fucking see him.
The sound of the man’s steps filled his ears as he moved closer, steady and slow, and Aljun felt lightheaded as he forced himself to keep his hands moving.
"Are you the one from Sector 8?"
Aljun froze for half a second.
Sector 8.
They were mistaking him for someone else.
He nodded.
"Name?"
Fuck.
His mind went blank.
Fuck it.
"Aljun," he said, keeping his voice low, and he did not look up.
The man let out a breath. "Condolence. I heard your wife’s missing."
Aljun paused.
Then he nodded and lifted his eyes enough to meet the man’s gaze. "Thank you."
The man gave a small nod and tapped his shoulder. "You’ll do well here."
He moved on.
Aljun stayed where he was.
Fuck.
He was alive.
He forced himself to keep working, but when he lifted his eyes, he caught another man watching him from across the row.
The look lingered too long.
Aljun looked away and kept his hands moving, but he could still feel it on him, that stare sitting at the back of his neck as the day dragged on.
The bell rang and everyone started moving out. Tools were set aside, gloves pulled off, and the rooftop shifted as people headed for the exit.
Two men ahead of him walked side by side, talking like they had known each other for years.
Aljun followed, keeping his head down.
He reached the door and pushed.
It did not move.
"Hey, new guy."
Aljun turned.
Three of them were behind him now.
One had no teeth and a sunken grin. Another had thick, bushy brows that made his eyes look heavier. The last had long curly hair tied back, watching everything a little too closely.
The bearded man was gone.
"The exit’s this way," the one with the bushy brows said, motioning ahead.
Aljun forced a smile and walked with them.
"Where you from?" the one with no teeth asked.
"Sector 8," Aljun said.
"Sector 8?" the one with curly hair said. "That’s inside the restricted zone, right?"
All three looked at him now.
"Yeah."
"Heard they pay decent credits there," the one with no teeth said. "What’d you do?"
The man with bushy brows nudged him.
"Leave it," he muttered. "Use your head."
The man with no teeth gave a quick nod. "Yeah. Sorry."
Aljun said nothing and kept walking.
They reached a set of gates that looked like something out of an airport.
People lined up and stepped forward one by one. A scanner flashed as it read their faces before letting them through.
Aljun slowed.
Fuck.
One person passed.
Then another.
The one with curly hair went through.
The one with bushy brows followed.
The man with no teeth stepped in front of him, then passed through without a problem.
Now it was him.
His chest tightened.
He could jump it.
Just run.
Fuck it.
He stepped forward.
The moment he crossed the red line, a sharp light hit him and an alarm screamed.
Heads turned.
"Hey!"
"Stop him!"
Aljun moved.
He jumped the gate and ran.
Footsteps came after him.
He pushed into the next hall, breath breaking, vision narrowing.
Stairs ahead.
No.
That was a trap.
He turned and saw the window.
Fuck.
It was high.
Too high.
The footsteps were getting closer.
He climbed anyway.
His hands slipped once, then held. He dragged himself up and pushed out onto the ledge, then pulled the window shut behind him and pressed against the wall.
The wind hit him hard.
He kept his eyes forward.
His legs shook as he held on, fingers digging into the edge while voices filled the room behind him.
Boots hitting the floor. Fast. Getting closer.
Aljun pressed himself harder against the wall and kept his grip tight, his fingers starting to ache as the wind pushed against him. He could hear them inside now, voices overlapping, someone giving orders, someone checking the room.
"Check the windows."
His chest tightened.
He stayed still and tried to control his breathing, but it came out uneven, too loud in his own ears. Sweat slid down his temple and into his eye, and he blinked it away without moving his head.
Footsteps stopped near the window he had just come through.
Too close.
He felt the wall cold against his cheek as he held himself there, every muscle locked, waiting for the glass to move.
It didn’t.
A second passed.
Then another.
"Nothing here," someone said.
The footsteps moved again.
Aljun swallowed and started inching sideways, slow and careful, testing each shift before he committed his weight. His shoe scraped once against the ledge and he froze, his grip tightening hard enough to hurt.
No shout came.
He kept going.
The next window was just ahead.
He reached for it and pushed it open, slow, trying not to make a sound.
He slid one hand inside.
Then the other.
He shifted his weight forward and started to pull himself in, but his foot slipped off the ledge and his body dropped before he could recover.
Fuck.
He was falling.
The drop hit his stomach first, then his chest, and the air left him as his body went weightless for a second.
A hand caught him hard and stopped him mid-fall.
The jolt snapped through his arm and held him there, hanging, his legs kicking slightly against open air.
He sucked in a breath, sharp and uneven, his heart slamming against his ribs as he looked down.
He gripped the arm holding him, fingers digging in without thinking.
He was not falling.
He was alive.
Aljun jerked his head up.
The bearded man, the one who had been watching him all day, leaned out the window and held him with a firm grip, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"I got you," he said, showing yellow teeth.
