Felix, Nova, and Kip left the hospital and boarded a van with Pat. Pat drove for an hour, past the outer fences of the city and into open country. The sky was cleaner out here, though the van's windows were still streaked with ash.
Felix sat stiffly in his seat, tugging at the hem of the white T-shirt the hospital had given him. It was too tight across the shoulders and read in bold letters: I ❤️ Technate.
He hated it.
His soliders' uniform was ruined from fighting on the battlefield. Now, everything he wore was borrowed. Branded. Stripped of meaning.
The van slowed in front of a building. Felix blinked. Instead of the run-down shelter he'd been expecting, a sleek, white modern structure rose up from the ground, surrounded by clean gravel paths and bright solar lights.
Pat parked. They stepped out into golden late-afternoon sunlight. "I'm going to give you a tour of the place," Pat said
He led them around the side, where a sprawling garden stretched behind the shelter. Tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce grew in rows, the soil dark and healthy. The sight made something tighten in his chest—an ache he didn't expect. He hadn't seen fresh vegetables in weeks. Months?
"This place... it's actually nice," Nova said, surprised.
Pat smiled. "We try to make it feel like a home, not a holding cell."
"You grow all this yourselves?" Felix asked.
Pat nodded. "Every resident helps. It's part of how we stay self-sufficient. Technate regulations don't make things easy."
Felix reached out, brushing the edge of a tomato plant with his fingers. The leaves were warm from the sun. He glanced down at his shirt again.
I ❤️ Technate.
The irony burned.
Felix asked, "Why doesn't your garden have a fence around it? Aren't you worried people are going to come and steal your food?"
Felix asked, "Why doesn't your garden have a fence around it? Aren't you worried people are going to come and steal your food?"
Pat shrugged. "Nobody's ever tried."
Felix raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes. We Technations believe stealing is wrong."
"So do we Intermariams," Felix said, his voice sharper than he intended. "But when you're starving, you don't have a choice. You steal to survive."
His mind flashed to the night his parents' grocery store was broken into. The broken glass. The empty shelves.
Pat didn't respond. Instead, he gestured toward the building. "Let me show you the cafeteria."
They followed him inside.
"We've got a group of volunteers who work in the kitchen," Pat explained. "They bring the food out here." He pointed to a table stocked with bowls of apples, oranges, and sealed packets of trail mix. An urn of tea and coffee stood nearby, white cups stacked neatly beside a bin labelled Dirty Dishes.
"Help yourself." Pat smiled.
Nova, Kip and Felix grabbed some trail mix. As they opened their packets, a man approached Nova. "Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Jared."
Felix narrowed his eyes. Jared had that smile—too friendly, too fast.
Nova offered a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
"You have really pretty eyes." Jared responded.
Felix rolled his eyes. "We've got to check out the church," he said quickly.
Nova nodded and followed him. The three exited the cafeteria and entered the small church building. They walked quietly down the aisle between rows of wooden pews. The stage at the front had a drum set, an electric piano, and a lone microphone.
"Three times a week we hold mass in the church," Pat said, catching up. He pulled some folded papers from the pocket of his cassock. "This is the mass schedule. You're all welcome to attend."
He handed each of them a copy.
"Now," Pat continued, "I'll show you where your rooms are."
They followed him to a nearby building marked Refugee Housing. Pat tapped his key card against a panel, unlocking the front door. Inside, a long hallway stretched ahead, lined with numbered rooms. The air smelled faintly of mint.
"Every week someone is assigned to clean the hallway, lobby room, and washrooms." Pat explained. "But it's your responsibility to keep your room clean."
He reached into his cassock again and pulled out three key cards.
"Here are your keycards. You'll need them to unlock your rooms."
They accepted the keycards. Pat swiped his keycard, and opened a door, revealing a small but clean room. A single bed, a dresser, a flat-screen TV, and a private washroom.
Kip's eyes widened. "We get our own room?"
"Yes," Pat said. "But we can only provide the basics."
Kip exclaimed. "Sweet! I've never had my own room!"
Pat smiled. "We're glad you're happy. Because we're offering housing, we ask residents to volunteer on-site—help in the garden, the kitchen, or clean the church after mass."
Nova nodded. "We'll help. It's the least we can do since you're giving us a place to stay."
"Excellent," Pat said. "We can also connect you with a job counselor. Our hope is that you stay no longer than a year or two—long enough to get on your feet, not so long that we run out of space for new arrivals. For now, take the week to rest and adjust."
He showed them to their individual rooms and handed them a schedule for meals in the cafeteria.
As the door closed behind Pat, Felix stood in the middle of his room, holding the laminated meal schedule like it might vanish in his hands.
He didn't know what to believe. The Technations were friendly. Generous, even.
But it all felt... curated. Too perfect.
Like being invited into a warm house after wandering the cold woods—
Only to realize too late that you were Hansel, and the gingerbread house was a trap.