Felix slouched in the common room, eyes locked on the TV. Yesmin's voice crackled from the Oval Office feed in Catwerp.
"Do you have zero sympathy for Cascadian refugees, Renee?"
Renee didn't move from the red couch. "Sympathy for people who tank Catwerp's housing market?"
"The wheat poisoning has made the situation in Cascadia dire—
"Not my problem. That's Lolita. Your drinking buddy."
Yesmin's jaw tightened. "Our relationship is strictly political."
"Really?" Renee sipped her coffee. "I asked for funding to support building housing in Catwerp; instead, you give donations to an alcoholic politician."
"She enjoys a glass now and then—it doesn't make her an alcoholic. And her country flooded. Not her fault."
Renee tightened her grip on the armchair. "Floods don't erase debt. Osa isn't the only creditor she's stiffing. She won't touch the loan her father took from me to fund the Crimson War. Insisting that she inherited the throne, not his debt. That's not how loans work."
The screen snapped to black. Felix felt the remote snatched from his hand.
"Felix."
Pat's expression was stern, and his arms were folded over his black long-sleeve shirt.
"All your friends have cleared out. You're the last stray."
"I've been job-hunting—"
"Watching politicians bicker on loop isn't hunting."
"No new postings online—"
"This is your last week. I already gave you an extra one. That's it."
"Why am I being kicked out after only a couple of months when Jared was given over a year to stay here?"
"The circumstances have changed when it comes to the demand for housing for refugees. Jared's situation was more dire than yours. I met him living on the streets before I brought him here."
"I didn't ask to come to the Technate. The army kidnapped and brought me here while I was fighting them."
"You were never kidnapped. You were extracted from a slaughterhouse. Stayed behind, you would have perished like spoiled meat."
"Jared wanted to come to Technate! I didn't! And now I'm the one getting evicted—"
"Felix! I'd love to give you all the time in the world, but that's not how it works here. This is a refugee center—we rely on funding, and we only get that by bringing in new people. I've already bent the rules for you, but I can't break them. If you're still here when the new intake arrives, I'll have no choice but to drop you off at the men's shelter."
Pat stepped out. Felix was left with his racing thoughts. Shawn came to mind; he'd met him at breakfast, who had a stint at the shelter. His stories—of roaches skittering over skin and thieves picking locker locks in seconds—gave Felix's goosebumps. The clock was ticking, and his inbox remained a graveyard of unreturned applications.