THERE’S A SPLIT SECOND before the sun rises when an iridescent glow covers the city. It’s so fleeting that at first, you might think your eyes are playing tricks on you. But it repeats each morning, just long enough to reveal a curve in the sky that wasn’t there before. Almost as quickly as it appears, the sun breaks over the horizon and renders the curve invisible. That split second is the only time you’d ever know you were under anything but the sky.

   It serves as a reminder that we’re trapped here. That the world we’re living in is real, and the Barrier still stands. I’ve never known a day without it, and I’ve never known a life on the other side of it.

   Mother used to tell stories of life before the war, before the Barrier. But they always felt more like dreams than memories. “Things haven’t always been this way,” she’d remind me. “And they won’t be forever.”

   But as I open my eyes to the technicolor hues dancing across my bedroom walls, dread sinks to the pit of my stomach. For eighteen years, I’ve hoped this day would be different. That long before today ever came, we’d be delivered from this, and I’d be spared from who I’m expected to become. But for eighteen years, nothing’s changed. Eighteen years today.

   As soon as the sky transitions to the soft, warm glow of a natural sunrise, I hear shuffling in the hall outside my door. Lifting my head, I see light sifting through the crack beneath it. There’s a shadow there that sways back and forth, and soon, tiny toes poke through. They can only belong to one person — my little brother, Liam.

   He bursts through the door like a bull out of its pen, charging straight for the bed. He gains momentum with every step until he reaches the footboard, then lunges onto the mattress. I barely move my legs in time to avoid being crushed under his weight, but he doesn’t stop there. He practically somersaults up the mattress until he’s looming over me. His small hazel eyes — our mother’s eyes — lock on mine as he grabs my shoulders and shakes me.

   “John!” he shouts. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

   I groan. “Liam, I’m clearly awake. What’s the matter with you?”

   The shaking ceases. He releases my shoulders and plops down on my chest, knocking the breath out of me.

   “Mother sent me to get you up, chump. The Market opens in fifteen minutes, and if you’re not there early, you’ll be lucky to make it home before dark.”

   “Why can’t you go?”

   “Just ’cause it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you get a free pass,” he winks.

   I sigh and pretend to start getting up, which causes Liam to roll off the bed. Before I can fully sit up, he’s already halfway to the door.

   “Fifteen minutes!” he shouts over his shoulder. “Or I’m coming back up here!”

   I trace his footsteps down the hall, then listen closely as he fumbles downstairs until he hits the ground level. At that point, the floor between us blocks out any other noise, and I’m safe from him.

   My head falls reluctantly against my pillow, and I let out a heavy sigh. The last thing I want to do is get out of bed. Doing so means the day has started, and every second of this day puts me closer to being drafted.

   The draft. The thing I’ve feared my whole life. It comes for every eighteen-year-old boy on the first day of a new year. All the boys who turned eighteen the previous year are rounded up and shipped to a military base in lower Manhattan for a sixteen-week training term. Afterward, they’re enlisted into different roles in the military. Some are responsible for food supply while others go on to train the next wave of draftees. All are trained to fight — no one is exempt from that. The draft has been required by law ever since day one under the Barrier. It exists to keep our military employed and our community safe in case the Barrier ever fails.

   It’s comforting, really, to know the massive dome designed to keep us safe may not actually do so in the long run. And, as a result, boys like me are predestined to be our last line of defense.

   Today means a lot of things for me — my birthday, the end of another year. But none of them matter with the draft hanging over my head. It's always felt distant, but now, it's pounding at my door.

   I feel myself start to slip away and flinch at the sound of something clattering against the floor downstairs. I realize if I don’t move now, Liam will march back up here and drag me out of bed himself.

   I close my eyes and try to silence my thoughts, take a deep breath, and slide my feet over the side of the bed. As soon as they press into the carpet below, I know there’s no going back.