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Instead, I agreed, and we went on our way. The streets felt familiar enough, and like the Cave, the compound seemed to be divided into districts, with clusters of similar buildings grouped together in one area. We passed through the market district, and as we reached the end of the rows of shops, my jaw dropped.

Up ahead, there was a large black pyramid, perhaps five storeys high, which was remarkably tall for a compound building. In the Cave, no building had been permitted to be taller than the Walls, which meant two storeys was the limit. It was considered a security issue. However, at the Delta, I’d already noticed that buildings were allowed to be up to four floors. I guessed that this compound, being far more remote than the Cave, was less at risk of Wastelander attacks.

The pyramid had tinted windows all down its sides. Almost the entire façade was glass. The tint was dark enough that it concealed the interior. Inside, we were greeted by a large, sterile-looking foyer of all-grey, from the floors to the walls that separated it from the rest of the building. Tall glass doors stood ahead of us. There was a large, white reception desk off to the right, but it was unmanned, at least at this time of night. Instead, Hamilton walked over to it and flipped up a hidden compartment, revealing a scanner. He scanned his fingerprint, and there was the sound of a heavy lock disengaging.

He motioned for me to follow him through the surprisingly heavy glass doors. From there, we followed a series of narrow, labyrinthine hallways.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“The Pyramid,” he replied, as if that answered everything. “It’s sort of a central command centre, though it’s also sometimes used as an event space. Most of the surface-level floor is offices, but the lower levels contain a variety of departments.”

“The lower levels?” I repeated with a frown, but right as I said it, we entered a large chamber with four elevators.

“Underground,” he said. “Come.”

I hesitated, but there was no other choice. The elevator had an enormous line of silver buttons inside it, all carefully labeled with titles like Agricultural Labs or Military HQ or even Residential Units. I assumed that the Delta, like the Cave, grew their food in labs, which explained the first label. The Cave had even had a few underground labs, though I’d never had access to them. But I’d never heard of anyone living below ground.

“Who lives here?”

Hamilton’s mouth quirked. “As of today? You do.”

I gaped at him. The residential units were on levels seventeen and eighteen. The thought of living so far below the surface, hidden from everything and everyone, turned my stomach.

“I don’t want to live there,” I burst out without thinking.

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, it’s not my decision, ma’am. You can take it up with the Sire in the morning.”

There was a finality in his tone that told me arguing was pointless, so I took a sharp inhale and held my tongue. Hamilton pressed the Residential button on the seventeenth level, and the elevator immediately began a gentle descent. As we waited, I scanned some of the other buttons. Most of them were unremarkable, but two more caught my eye: a level labeled Disciplinary Facilities, and another called Military Archives. The archives were at the very bottom, on the twenty-fifth level. Buried, came the unconscious thought.

“What’s in the military archives?” I found myself asking, even though I should’ve known better. I’d lived in a compound, and too many questions got you branded as a troublemaker. Unfortunately, I’d fallen out of the habit of biting my tongue. In the Wasteland, being silent merely ensured someone taking advantage of you.

No different here, I mused. They’re just less obvious about it.

“Nothing very interesting,” Hamilton replied, shrugging. “Mostly routine stuff on risk assessment, incident reports, and such. Stored digitally for reference and the historical record. Most would probably find it dead boring to read.”

Maybe most people would, but I used to be a history teacher. I’d spent a lot of my time in teacher training scouring through public archives, and the thought of what must be shut away in the military archives sent a thrill through me. Maybe there’d be some secret that I could use to help me escape.

“Who’s allowed access?” I asked, and when he frowned, I pasted on a fake smile. “Sorry. Former history teacher. I’m always curious about old archives.”

His expression cleared, thankfully. “They’re restricted to high-ranking officers and officials only. The penalty for unauthorized access is death, so I’d stick to the public archives if I were you.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded. “Understood.”

I resisted the urge to question him further, as it would only arouse more suspicion. But I couldn’t shake the sense that I needed to discover whatever was down there. Anything they’d be so concerned about that they’d bury it twenty-five storeys underground could only help me in my quest to return to the Valley.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped off onto an open lobby that contained a couple of plush-looking sofas and a row of small mailboxes. At least at the Cave, we didn’t have traditional mail service; there was no point with it being a relatively small compound and with the ability to send messages instantly. However, certain professions—like medicine or various government officials—had access to a courier service to deliver physical goods to people’s residences. I could only assume that whoever lived on this level was important enough to have similar access.

The lobby opened onto what looked like an endless corridor of doors; it was so long that I couldn’t see the opposite end. Hamilton led me to the second door on the right, near to the elevators, then turned to hand me a keycard.

“This is your unit,” he said, nodding at the door. “The kitchen and bathroom are already stocked, so you should have everything you need. But if you need anything else, you can ask the virtual assistant and she’ll order it for delivery for you.”

“O-kay,” I answered slowly. I’d never had access to anything like that before…but then, I’d been a high school teacher. I had no need for an assistant, virtual or otherwise, and delivery service was limited to two restaurants in the Cave’s downtown core, and only on weekends.

Hamilton handed me another card, which I recognized as a credit account card by its similar design to the one I’d had at the Cave. The economy of the Cave had been small and simple: basic needs, like food and housing, were assigned by the government. The type of housing a person received was based on their assigned career, which itself had an assigned salary level that scaled depending on the position and on seniority. Your living arrangements only changed when you left your parents’ home (as was required after turning eighteen), were assigned a spouse, or your application for a child was approved.

Credits were the compound’s version of Old World money, though we had no physical currency. They were used for everything that wasn’t essential. More prestigious careers were given better food, housing, and of course, more credits to use as disposable income. As a teacher, my salary and my dwelling had been modest. I lived in the lowest housing tier—a basic, one-bedroom apartment—until I was assigned to marry a doctor and moved into his house. I had no idea what to expect of the unit I was being shown now.

“You have an unlimited credit account,” Hamilton said, and I balked, taking a step back. “Anything you may need to purchase, you can use this card.”