As Jahree’s mom gently urged him awake, her voice was soft but insistent in the dimly lit chamber. “Jahree, wake up,” she whispered, carefully not to startle him. Stirring from the comfort of his sleeping pod, the little boy sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Confusion creased his young face as he asked drowsily, “What?” With a reassuring smile, his mother said, “Get dressed, sweetheart.” She extended a set of neatly folded clothes for him to put on. The room was enveloped in the quiet of pre-dawn, casting shadows that danced lightly on the walls. “Why night?” he asked, his voice tinged with the lethargy of interrupted rest. “It just is, but it’s time to go. We need to hurry. Let’s get you dressed,” she urged, a note of urgency threading through her words. Jahree complied, slipping into the garments with his mother’s assistance. As Jahree munched on the compressed nutrition bars given to him by his mother, his eyes followed her every move. She was swift and purposeful, stuffing additional clothing into a sturdy, multipurpose bag. “Ready?” The boy’s attention shifted as his dad appeared in the doorway, his form silhouetted against the low light, another packed bag in hand. “We need to go,” he declared with a decisive tone. “But it’s dark,” Jahree pointed out innocently as he took his stuffed bunny from his sleep pod. Even at three years old, he knew you didn’t go out at night. The forbidden nature of their actions only added to his unease. “We need to go now. It’s our time,” his dad explained, though Jahree didn’t understand, leaving an unsettling feeling in the pit of Jahree’s stomach. “We’re ready,” Jahree’s mom said with quiet urgency. She carefully handed his dad the well-packed bag, its contents meticulously chosen for their escape. With gentle arms, she then scooped up her son, feeling his small body cling to her in the darkness. Jahree clutched his favorite stuffed bunny to his chest, a beacon of comfort amidst the turmoil. His young mind couldn’t fully grasp the gravity of the situation, but the fear was palpable in his wide, unblinking eyes. “Be quiet now, sweetheart,” his mom whispered in his ear. Her voice was a soothing balm, but it carried an undertone of something he only recognized as danger. They slipped out of the apartment, the door closing with a silent, practiced ease. The hallway stretched in front of them, its usual life and light extinguished in favor of shadow and silence. They made their way to the elevator, the muted sound of their careful steps intertwining with the thudding of Jahree’s heart. The doors slid open to reveal an empty chamber, confirming the lateness of the hour. It wasn’t surprising to find it so deserted. Curfew had draped its invisible, oppressive net over the city hours ago. Only the watch—an ever-vigilant, merciless force—patrolled the streets after dark. Once outside, the night enveloped Jahree and his parents. He’d never been out at night. Every shuffle or whisper of wind made him jump, his tiny hands gripping the fuzzy ears of his bunny tighter with each noise. They frequently altered their path, ducking into alleys and pressing into the shadows whenever the distant march of the watch’s boots whispered close. It was a chilling night, far more due to dread than the temperature, though Jahree felt that too, biting at his cheeks and nose. Despite his fear, Jahree remained silent. The culture of fear had seeped even into his three-year-old mind, teaching him that the watch had eyes and ears everywhere and that you never wanted to draw their attention. The watch had no patience for curious children, no sympathy for those who stepped out of line. They ruled with an iron fist, and not even innocence could soften their grip. So, they continued, a small family wrapped in silence, their every step a defiance of the oppressive regime that sought to control their lives. Jahree held onto his bunny, an anchor of familiarity, as they edged their way toward the unknown destination. Slipping into the shadowy retreat of an adjacent alleyway, they sought refuge from the relentless patrol. Jahree, his heart hammering with fear, shielded his eyes and pressed his young face against the comforting shoulder of his mother as they crouched behind an overturned trash bin, the stench of refuse heavy in the air. “They’re still out there,” his mom whispered, her voice a hush that barely rose above the sound of their labored breathing. “Wait,” his dad cautioned, his breath a ghostly trail in the cool night air. They could hear the muffled tread of boots on the pavement, a sentinel’s relentless march that seemed to go on interminably. Clutching him more securely, Jahree could feel the tension in his mom’s embrace. Time was slipping through their fingers like grains of sand in a tightening fist. Minutes felt like hours under the weight of their peril. Finally, his mom broke the silence, her determination clear. “We can’t wait any longer. She won’t be there forever,” she said, urgency tingeing her voice. His dad nodded, already crafting a plan. “Okay, I have an idea. Leave the bags.” Jahree’s wide, anxious eyes tracked his father’s movements as he carefully concealed their bags amidst the detritus within the bin, a cache that, if luck held, would go unnoticed by the patrols. “Come,” his father beckoned, moving with stealth born of necessity. They couldn’t afford to attract the attention of the patrolling guards. His mother took a steadying breath and nodded. Exiting the narrow alleyway, Jahree and his parents made their way through the moonlit streets. The shadows cast by the buildings blended with the darkness, creating a tapestry of night that seemed to guide them on their path. However, their journey was abruptly interrupted when a stern voice broke through the silence. Jahree’s heart leaped as he saw the silhouette of the city watchman, standing with an authoritative posture, barring their way forward. “Halt.” The sharp command of the man pierced through the night, halting Jahree and his parents in their tracks. They all tried to steady their breathing as they turned to face him. “Up against the wall,” he demanded, pointing his weapon at them. Jahree’s heart dropped into his stomach as they complied, pressing themselves flat against the cold stone surface. “What are you doing out past curfew?” The man barked, his eyes scanning over their faces with suspicion. “We’re sorry, sir. Our son has taken ill. We were taking him to the med facility,” Jahree’s dad explained, trying to keep his voice steady. The man’s gaze snapped to Jahree, who could feel himself shrinking under it. He didn’t want to be sick. He didn’t want to go back to the facility again. “Ill? Boy, look at me.” The man grabbed Jahree’s chin and jerked his face towards him. Jahree could do nothing but meet his cold stare, too afraid to resist. He had heard stories of the watch killing those who dared to defy them. “The boy does look pale,” the man remarked, studying Jahree’s features closely. “He doesn’t have a fever. His skin is clammy.” Jahree held his breath, waiting for the verdict that would determine their fate. “I’ll escort you to the facility,” the man finally decided, motioning for them to follow him with a wave of his hand. As they moved, the environment shifted, signaling the end of the watchman’s jurisdiction. Sensing the change, he instructed them to halt. “This is as far as my patrol zone goes. We’ll wait here for another escort to arrive,” he declared, maintaining his duty to protocol. However, Jahree’s mother making a show of concern for her son’s supposed deteriorating health, gave a heartfelt plea. “Oh, please, sir. He’s very sick. If we wait, he may not make it. The medical facility isn’t much farther. If we can just keep moving, the next escort can join us on the way. That way, you can return to your patrol and maintain security,” she implored with a mixture of hope and desperation. The watchman, recognizing the gravity of the situation, gave a quiet nod of approval. “Go.” As they hastened on Jahree’s mother heard the sounds of the watchman’s radio crackling to life. She knew he was calling on one of his counterparts to rendezvous with them and ensured that they didn’t go far unescorted as they left his zone of responsibility. As Jahree’s parents briskly exited the visibility zone, the pace of their steps increased noticeably. The anxiety between them was almost tangible, a shared understanding of the urgency of their situation. “You knew we’d leave his zone,” Jahree’s mom whispered, her voice barely audible, laden with apprehension. Her eyes darted around as if expecting the walls themselves to have ears. “You knew he wouldn’t make us wait.” Willen nodded, a grim determination set on his face. “They like good, well-behaved children; much less not the ones who might start crying, or, Creator forbid, vomit on them. We’re almost there.” Their destination was quickly forthcoming as they hastened past the medical facility, an imposing structure that cast an elongated shadow in the waning light. “This way,” Jahree’s father whispered, his hand gripping his mother’s tightly as they turned down another dimly lit alleyway. The smell of must and old garbage filled the air, making Jahree crinkle his nose in disgust. Suddenly, a gruff voice cut through the quiet. “Halt. Against the wall,” a different watchman commanded, their authoritative tone sending a shiver down Jahree’s spine. But this time, his parents didn’t listen. They took off running, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. “Let me take him,” Jahree’s dad said, and his mom passed him over without slowing. The jostling caused Jahree to drop his doll. “Bunny!” Jahree cried out, but he knew his parents wouldn’t stop. They couldn’t afford to with the watch on their tail. “We’ll get you a new one,” his mother promised breathlessly, her voice strained with fear and determination. He didn’t want a new one, but he knew his old one was gone. They’d run from the watch. If they were caught, they’d be killed. Even a three-year-old knew that. As they continued to run, Jahree could hear the sound of gunshots behind them. He buried his face in his father’s shoulder, trembling with every step. But suddenly, a sharp pain struck his forehead as his father’s shoulder bone collided with it. He looked up just in time to see a woman step out from behind a nearby column. “This way,” she called urgently, beckoning them towards her with one hand while holding something out in the other. “This will open the passage. Just squeeze it when you reach the end of the alley. Don’t stop and wait for me. Just go.” His mother quickly snatched whatever it was from the woman’s hand before they continued running towards the end of the alleyway. Just as they reached it, a blinding light exploded before them, causing Jahree to shield his eyes in both fear and awe. Through squinted eyes, he saw that ahead of them was a glowing tunnel that seemed to stretch on forever. Without hesitation, they ran towards it and were enveloped by its bright light. Seconds later, the light faded and Jahree blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in environment. Instead of dark alleys and cold air, they were now standing in a bustling street filled with warm sunlight and strange, unfamiliar sights. Everyone around them was dressed in odd clothing that Jahree had never seen before. Everything was different.