After the martial arts lesson last night concluded, Lucas warned me that I'd wake up even more sore today because it's the third day after the first proper workout in awhile. That this would be the worst of it, and then my body would start to settle down.

He wasn't kidding. I have discovered several new muscles upon waking up, and every last one of them is sore.

Groaning a little, I toss the covers off of me and get up, heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Today is a day for training powers, so I fix up a breakfast of yogurt, berries, and chopped nuts. I'm almost out of the fresh produce he had me buy, since I had to use it up to keep it from going bad. Most of that stuff only keeps for three to five days.

However, after looking at my budget, I do have enough cash to buy some fruits and veggies over the next few weeks, especially if I get some more jobs.

After eating breakfast and washing the dishes from now and yesterday, I stretch a bit, my muscles aching as I do so. Lucas said it's important to stretch in the mornings, especially with the cold, or it can make the aches worse.

My phone rings, startling me, and I check it to find an unfamiliar number calling me. My new agent hasn't contacted me yet, so I answer the call just in case it's her, risking it being some scammer.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hello," a woman responds. "My name is Melody Holt, from the Amlirx Work Agency. I'm looking to speak with a Mr. Kieran Wolfe?"

"Speaking," I answer.

"Hello, Mr. Wolfe," she says. "I was assigned to your case and wasn't able to review your file until the end of my shift last night, or I'd have called you already, I'm sorry. Normally, I like to set up an in-person appointment for us to meet and talk about your case, just in case there's something missing, especially when you're a transfer from another agency."

I feel like there's a 'however' in there, so I don't jump in immediately when she pauses there. That seems to have been the right idea, as she continues only a moment later. She was either taking a breath or giving me a moment to finish processing what she said.

"However," she tells me. "I actually have two jobs that I feel you might be interested in, and I thought I'd offer them to you and set up the appointment for us to meet sometime later."

That's a bit surprising, I was expecting her to have some reservation about meeting me or something. To have two jobs prepared for me? In four years of working with the previous temp agency, I was never given an offer to choose between two, it was either take it or nothing that day.

"Okay," I respond. "Am I correct in assuming I can only take one?"

"That is correct," she answers. "They do overlap in hours. The first job is on Ninth Green Street, a twenty-three-minute walk from your apartment according to my mapper. The job runs from nine this morning until three this afternoon, and is assisting with cashiering at a convenience store. You'd be paid minimum, at twelve an hour, for the six-hour shift, rounded down to the hour in case you leave early, but only if you work at least two hours. Of course, we do have our ten-percent fee, but you'd earn approximately sixty-five dollars if you do work the full shift."

That's pretty normal, and I probably know which store it is. There's one on Ninth Green Street that I tend to work at every three weeks or six, to cover for a cashier who has a medical appointment the morning of every Saturday. Every third Saturday, they need someone extra to cover the shift as no one else can. Today is the third Saturday since the last one I covered, and that's the same shift.

"Okay," I say. "Is that for Lamika's Sundries?"

"It is," she answers. "They contacted us to see about having you help out today, and I've noticed in your records that you typically do so every three Saturdays. I'm assuming they checked to see other agencies after being informed by you previous agency that you are no longer with them."

"I do," I answer. "I take it the other job is a bit better, if you're offering it along with a regular?"

"Yes," she answers. "It's from ten this morning until two this afternoon, so only a four-hour shift. However, the pay is one hundred dollars total. It involves cleaning up a couple of conference halls after a lock-in last night. Most of it will be picking up trash, taking it out, and then vacuuming the halls. You may need to put chairs away as well."

I feel like there's a catch to this job. Not the expected one, like the place is probably going to be trashed and I'll have to clean it all up myself, but something else. That sort of 'catch' stopped surprising me a few years ago, and it's easy to tell when it's something like that because the price tends to be a little higher if the place is decent.

"But…?"

"It's forty-two minutes away from your apartment," she answers. "So it's beyond your listed range. However, after our ten-percent, you'd receive ninety-one dollars, so for two hours less work and around twenty to thirty minutes of extra walking each way, you'd earn around twenty-six dollars more. If you wish to decline because it's beyond range, that's acceptable. I only considered it for you because of the significant increase in pay in comparison."

I want the extra money, especially since the total time – working and traveling – for that job will end up less than just the shift for the other job. The extra money will more than make up for the extra distance. However, if I accept the job, it might tell her that I'm willing to accept jobs beyond my range, and she'll probably offer me normal ones there.

"Please understand, Mr. Wolfe," she says before I can respond. "That such a decision is something that I normally would have discussed with you during our first meeting."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"This is why I prefer to talk in-person first," she comments. "It's easier to explain and discuss things that way. When looking at potential jobs, I try to look at only the ones within their restrictions. However, I also like to see if there are any exceptions to those restrictions. With the distance thing, I like to ask my clients if they'd be willing to work jobs outside their range under certain conditions. Generally, it's an extra fifty percent of minimum per anything between the maximum to double the maximum. So for you, it would be eighteen an hour for anything between thirty and sixty minutes of walking away. Then I add on those two increases. Twenty-four an hour for anything between sixty and ninety, thirty an hour for anything between ninety and one-twenty, and so on. However, it's only if the client is okay with me making these offers. Otherwise, I file them away. Such jobs don't come along too often – most of the jobs we receive requests for pay between twelve and fifteen an hour."

So if I accept this job, she wouldn't try to lump me into minimum-wage jobs that are outside of my distance like Hannah did? And here I thought all temp agency agents were heartless, soulless beasts whose main duty was trying to get the jobs accepted since they get a commission. Hopefully, Melody is being honest with me here and not trying to bait me into accepting so that she can eventually pressure me to take cheaper jobs.

"If I'm being paid at least eighteen an hour," I say. "I wouldn't have an issue with traveling up to an hour. I don't want to be getting home any later than five, as I have training at six each day. I'll take the job with the conference centers."

"It's the Korriska Building, which is located on Ninth Red Street," she informs me. "The pay periods at your old agency ended on Saturdays, but ours end on Sundays, just to let you know. So if you receive a job tomorrow as well, it'll be paid with this one when we deposit the money into your account on Friday."

"Thanks," I say. "And thanks for the job, Mrs. Holt."

"Thank you for accepting," she responds. "Don't forget that the job is from ten to two today, Mr. Wolfe, at the Korriska Building on Ninth Red Street."

"Ten to two," I say. "Korriska Building. Ninth Red Street."

"Yes," she says. "Have a good day, Mr. Wolfe, and good luck with the job."

She ends the call, and I stretch again, then change my clothes. Sivalshi sped up again, and it's even colder now. I'm going to definitely look into buying a jacket next Saturday, especially if we keep heading north.

I heard a few people talking yesterday that they're worried Sivalshi is running from something. To be honest, I'm a bit worried by that as well. Sivalshi has always maintained a steady rate, rarely speeding up or slowing down by more than a mile a day. Yet here he is, having increased from three miles a day originally to ten. In less than a month.

What, exactly, could a great beast be fleeing? There's starting to be tension in the air with worry, and vigilante sightings have become even more frequent as the masked power users try to reassure people that they're around and will fight against any beast that dares to come to our city, just as they fight against criminals who dare to harm our citizens.

It won't be too long before we're in the ice zone if Sivalshi keeps up this pace, and with how courteous he's been of everyone so far, he wouldn't go there unless it was important.

Ready for the day, I decide to set off and walk around for a bit, mostly to clear my head, partly to keep my body warm with movement.

Since I have plenty of time before I need to be at the Korriska Building, I take the time to think about a few things. Mostly Lucas.

How warm will his apartment be once we're in the zone where temperatures are below freezing every night and only a little above them during the day? Probably much warmer than mine based on how much money he makes. Even down here in the lower districts and the lower portions of the middle districts, though, things can be tough. Heating a space takes electricity, and the city always prioritizes powering the farming domes at the center of the turtle's back.

They take up a ring about four miles or so, from what I've heard, surrounded by the upper districts. Though I thought it was weird the wealthy people wanted the farms in the center of their beauty, I've learned as I grew up that there were several reasons for it. Two that I can think of specifically at the moment.

The first is that it protects them from being soaked with water should Sivlashi dip down a little, or in the case of a heavy storm. His shell isn't too domed, and a severe ocean storm can bring water up to three-quarters of a mile in. For that reason, there's nothing for the first mile of his shell, though I know some people will go down and fish at the shore.

The second is that it ensures that wealthy people have easier access to the fresh food. If something disrupts deliveries, it's more likely to affect those further from the domes than those closer. There's a lot of disruptions when sending fresh food out to the lower districts, though the area I live in usually doesn't get too many of those, we just have to pay more.

Lucas probably pays less than I do, even if it's only by a few cents on some items. He probably also has to eat canned food much less often. That stuff doesn't get affected by the delivery delays, so it's easier to find in the stores at the fringes of the lower districts.

Thinking about Lucas again reminds me of his smile, and how his hands feel on me when he's helping me with a move. Everything the last few days seems to lead me back to thinking about him, and I don't know how I really feel. Is all of this because he's helping me out and also incredibly attractive?

Hopefully, I can get over this crush in the next week so that I can sort out how I really feel about him. He's nice, but do I want to try to be more than friends? Yes, absolutely. Right now. But that could just be from the crush formed through his help and kindness and looks.

Time is needed.

I've never had a crush before, so I want to make absolutely sure that I do actually like him before trying for something. He'll probably refuse me, anyway, since not only does he think I'm straight, but it's clear that he's just seeing me as a client who needs help. Hopefully, I can get over this soon.

When it's time to head over to the Korriska Building, I do, approaching the reception desk. Sitting at it is a guy who looks to be about my age, with dark brown hair, kind brown eyes, and pale skin with a splash of freckles across the middle section of his nose. He's dressed in a brown polo, and I can't see his pants, but that polo fits him nicely.

Great. I go from thinking about one hot guy that I'm crushing on to seeing another hot guy at my temp job for today. At least I'll only see this one upon arrival, and possibly departure.

"Good morning," I greet him when I approach. "I'm Kieran Wolfe, the agency sent me to do a cleanup on a couple of conference halls?"

"Ah," he suddenly looks a little uncomfortable. "Yeah. It'll only be one hall."

Only one? From his tone…

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"We've put some trash bags in there already," he tells me. "Just clean up the trash, but make sure to sort everything as per protocol. Stack the chairs against the walls, no higher than five each. There's a bucket with cleaning solution in it and some wash rags and dry towels. Use the rags to dab up any wet spots and the towels to dry, then vacuum. Don't worry about getting stains out, just try to prevent it from getting sticky."

"Got it," I say. "Where at?"

"Fourth floor," he hands me a key. "Only room there, this key will unlock it. Take the elevator. Let me know if you need anything."

"Alright," I accept the key.

I head to the elevator, surprised this building not only has one, but that it's working. That's not common here in the lower districts. Heck, even the middle districts tend to be spotty on elevator usage. It's an expense for electricity that most don't see the need for, especially since they need maintained as well. As I take the short ride up, I think about what the room might be like.

The way the hot guy at the desk reacted to my question suggested that it's pretty bad. A building as fancy as this one, even if there are still signs of age and things needing replaced (this high-traffic carpet looks especially worn-out), I can't imagine they'd have kids who aren't kept under decent control during a lock-in. Did they spill just a few things and leave their trash about? We're near the border of the lower and middle district here, so it wouldn't surprise me if their definition of 'bad' and mine are different.

I've seen some awful things in my cleaning jobs.

Reaching the fourth floor, I step out and glance at the restrooms to the side, then approach one of the sets of double doors at the end of the carpeted lobby. Unlocking it, I open the door and start to enter the conference room and stop dead in my tracks, looking around the room.

How long was the lock-in, and was there any supervision for these kids at all?