Chapter 5 5

Thursday morning was dark. The sun hadn't crested the horizon yet, leaving the world in shades of gray and blue.

Arlis zipped his duffel bag. It was light. He didn't own much.

Frank met him at the bottom of the stairs. He held out a white envelope. "Take it," Frank said roughly. "It's not much. Get a hotel room with a lock on the door. Don't sleep at the station."

Arlis took the envelope. It was thin. Maybe two hundred dollars. "Thanks, Dad."

"I can drive you," Frank offered, jiggling his keys.

"No," Arlis said. "The truck needs new tires. I can't risk you breaking down on the highway. The bus is fine."

He walked into the kitchen. Martha handed him a brown paper bag. "Turkey and cheese," she said. "I cut the crusts off."

Arlis smiled, a genuine, small smile. "Thanks, Mom."

The Greyhound station was a concrete slab on the edge of town. The bus was a behemoth of steel and exhaust. Arlis boarded, finding a window seat near the back. The air inside was stale, smelling of recirculated air conditioning and old cigarettes.

A young woman sat across the aisle, a baby screaming in her arms. She looked exhausted, on the verge of tears. Arlis reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic dinosaur-a toy from the diner's kids' meal stash. He held it out.

The baby stopped crying, grabbing the toy with chubby fingers. The mother exhaled, mouthing a thank you.

The bus lurched forward. The town of his childhood-the gas station, the high school, Hailee's house-slid past the window and disappeared. Arlis felt a physical severance, like a cord being cut.

He closed his eyes. He visualized the interview room. Commissioner Reynolds.

Reynolds hates theory, Arlis thought. He hates academic jargon. He wants numbers. He wants grit.

Most candidates would walk in there quoting textbooks. Arlis was going to walk in there quoting the potholes on 5th Street.

The bus stopped at a rest area three hours later. Arlis stepped out to stretch his legs. Near the vending machines, a group of three college students stood in a circle. They wore blazers with university crests.

"Did you hear?" one of them said, laughing. "They opened a reserve slot. Some nobody from the boonies got in."

"Probably just to fill a diversity quota or something," another sneered. "They'll be out in five minutes."

Arlis unwrapped his sandwich. He leaned against the brick wall, chewing slowly. He was invisible to them. He was just a guy in jeans eating a crustless sandwich.

Good, he thought. Underestimate me.

He climbed back on the bus. His phone vibrated. He checked it. Hailee.

Kyler says you're going to embarrass yourself. If you turn back now, I can ask my uncle to get you a job in sanitation. It pays okay.

Arlis didn't feel anger. He felt nothing. He opened the settings menu. Block Contact.

He pressed the button. The severance was complete.

Six hours later, the skyline of the capital rose from the plains. Skyscrapers of glass and steel reflected the afternoon sun. To Arlis, they looked like teeth.

He got off the bus. The noise of the city hit him-sirens, honking, the hum of humanity. He walked two blocks to a motel with a flickering neon sign. The Starlight Inn.

He dropped his bag in the room. It smelled of mildew. He didn't care.

He washed his face and walked out. He needed to see the battlefield.

City Hall was a massive limestone building with towering pillars and wide steps. It was designed to make you feel small. Arlis stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.

He didn't feel small. He felt hungry.

He sat on the bottom step, watching the people come and go. Men in suits. Women in power heels. They walked with purpose, clutching briefcases full of secrets.

Arlis narrowed his eyes. I belong up there, he told himself. And tomorrow, I'm going to prove it.