And none of that fire is for me.
He doesn’t glance at the camera. Doesn’t say my name. Doesn’t even look like he remembers it.
But I feel it.
In every syllable, in every note of righteous fury—he’s putting distance between us.
And the worst part is…
I get it.
I lean back, let the tablet fall to the floor, and close my eyes.
If I were him, I’d never look back either.
The compad blinks on and off like it’s mocking me, casting its ghost-light across my apartment. It’s been two days since I watched him lead that protest—two days since I heard the crowds roaring his name while I sat alone in a room with the blinds drawn and the sound muted. Irrationally, I keep expecting to hear from him. A message. A scream. Anything.
Nothing.
So I stop pacing and start digging.
There’s no big cinematic moment. No gust of wind or lightning bolt. Just a sour prick of dread in my gut as I sit at my terminal and pull up the public archive system with trembling fingers. I know the districting amendment by heart at this point. I should’ve memorized it before I voted. But now? Now it’s burned into the back of my skull like a brand.
I pull it up again anyway.
Zoning Packet 1397. Legislative Summary: Approved.
I scroll past the formal summary. Past the talking points I’d recited in interviews. Past the “neutral descriptor language” that someone spent months scrubbing clean of sentiment.
I need to know why. Why was Dennis so insistent onthisspecific grid? Why the rush?
I dig deeper, bypassing the summary and going into the budget allocations. It’s boring work. Dense. The kind of thing aides skim over.
But I’m not skimming tonight.
I find a sub-clause regarding “Infrastructure Maintenance.” Standard stuff, usually. Piping. Electrical. Waste management.
But the numbers are wrong.
The allocation for “Sanitation Upgrades” in the Alien Quarter is massive. Astronomical. Ten times the budget of the Human District’s equivalent.
I frown, leaning closer. Why would they pour that much money into a district they’re trying to squeeze out?
I click the budget line item to expand it.
Access Restricted.
I blink. That’s odd. Budget allocation is public record.
I try my secondary clearance—the one I used when I was acting as Dennis’s proxy during the drafting phase.
Processing…
A new window pops up. The sanitation budget isn’t routing to municipal services. It’s routing to a Department of Defense sub-contractor.
Code: 31C-Alpha.
“What the hell?” I whisper.
