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Chapter 8: The Upper Windows

If God didn't want us in the sky, He wouldn't have made cables so strong. Jax had heard Dren say it a hundred times, but this morning it felt true.

The morning haze hadn't burned off yet. Below him, Level 17 still held dew and echo. Nets from last night's Skycatch match flapped in the breeze.

Someone had scrawled JAX 10 - GRAVITY 0 across a duct panel. Zinn's handwriting.

Jax laughed and kept climbing, humming low enough to make the rope resonate in his hands. He didn't know where he learned it. It just felt right when the morning was quiet.

Above the game decks, anchor cables and sky-strung scaffolds tangled through the towers. The whole upper span webbed tight. They weren't kept on maps, but everyone on the lines knew the route.

To outsiders, chaos. To Jax, a staircase.

He clipped onto Line 34 and swung out, boots skimming open air as momentum curled through his spine. Wind shrieked past his ears. He gave the line a practiced tug and twisted midair to avoid a runoff pipe.

The tower's glass shell blurred beside him. His boots hit the platform five stories above his assigned cleaning rig. Below, Zinn clapped and whooped.

"Didn't you show off enough last night?" he shouted.

Jax smiled, catching his breath.

Zinn balanced a lunch tin on his head like a crown. "Come on, cloud boy. We've got a full rig and half a skyline to scrub."

"I think gravity missed me," Jax called back.

"She's petty like that. Now move your limbs, Lord Skycatch. The Central Tower's not gonna polish itself."

Today's job: cleaning the tower's upper windows. Off-limits to drones. Too many cameras, too much memory. The elites preferred Groundling hands. Easier to silence.

Jax clipped in, kicked off the platform, and yanked the counterweight line. The rig shot upward in a smooth rush, pulley wheels whining as the world opened around him.

Sky above, the Cloudline below.

Most Skybloods never looked down. Jax never looked away.