The world outside the truck window came into focus, the harsh concrete of Harbor City giving way to the ruffled, green blanket of the countryside. The hysterical whirl of media notifications and viral hashtags faded into the steady hum of tires on the road and the wind whistling through paddies of rice. Reuben had made up his mind in the small hours of the night after Danford, after the frantic, successful, politically charged work of securing the refugee camp. Crane's "fraud" tale had clung to him there, a ghostly scent that drew disbelieving government accountants and disenchanted reporters who shadowed his every move, waiting for the first misstep.
He could not work like that. The System could not function under a microscope. So, he went underground.
He, Anna, and a few others of thre
