Tal had never been inside the civic center before.
From the outside it looked like every other government block in Twelve‑Lower thick, square, pretending it had always been there. Up close, it smelled like new plastic and old fear.
He stood in the drizzle across the street and watched the doors.
Uniforms at the entrance. Two, then four, then six as more citizens arrived.
Drones floating in a lazy pattern overhead.
He told his hands to stop sweating.
They did not listen.
"You are going to be late," his neighbor hissed.
Ms. Haro, hair already frizzing in the damp, nudged his shoulder with her shopping bag. She had insisted on walking him over, as if he were six and headed for school, not thirteen and headed for a room with microphones.
"I am early," Tal said.
"Early is the new late when there are scanners," she said. "Come on."
They joined the slow line.
Everyone pretended not to look at the arch.
