Page 4 of This Cruel Fate

The Bureau of Variant Integration and Wellness stood in one of the blocks where the Variants’ Revolution had occurred. It was far from the well-manicured lawns with rows of neatly trimmed hedges and austere, ancient buildings that made up the government district.

The bureau was one of the ten commercial buildings that had been rebuilt or restored in the past seven years. The three-by-ten-city-block radius that suffered the brunt of the battle was still devastated. And wholly deserted.

While there were days when the work felt meaningless, and the view of their past burdened their present, Xolia loved her work at the bureau. She was fortunate to even have a job in the government. After her initial attack on Peter and refusal to side against Silas, there had been talks of charging her with treason. Until Krista had stepped in. Thinking about Krista sent a pang through her chest. Krista had been her first stepping stone to a potential life without violence. And now she had been ripped from Xolia’s life like it was nothing. Xolia scoffed at herself. So, it’s going to be one of those days. One of those days when the work was more taxing than inspiring.

The glass doors, which were supposed to be locked, opened with the smallest of pushes. Only employees of the bureau ever came to this part of town. Security was so lax that neither of the two security guards looked up from their computers when she stepped into the lobby.

Bypassing the broken elevator, Xolia went up a flight of stairs to her floor of poorly constructed cubicles. Rumors of a remodel had died out long ago; there was always too much work to be done for the bureau to close.

Despite the war being over, variants needed help, and the integration of variants into human society carried more problems than Xolia had ever anticipated.

Rowan, the first friend she had ever made in the barracks, was already seated on her side of their adjoined cubicle. Staring intently at the screen, Rowan didn’t so much as move a muscle when Xolia stood directly behind her, peering over her shoulder.

“The Ollmann’s still aren’t receiving their Good Faith checks?” Xolia asked, skimming through the report illuminating Rowan’s screen. “Make sure to send that to Risian Financial.” When the war had ended, FAR instituted a ten-year program in which variants received monthly Good Faith checks to aid in everyday expenses and in finding their footing in society, much to the outrage of the human population.

Rowan turned around, revealing a thin pair of wire-framed glasses. It was a new habit for Rowan—to try human things like wearing glasses. But it only made her look ridiculous since Xolia knew there was no prescription in the lenses. “It may come as a surprise, but I do know how to do my job,” she responded drily.

Xolia shrugged and sat down at her desk. “I just hope they respond to you this time.”

“Me too,” admitted Rowan, with a sigh. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her movement looked natural, effortless—like it was something she had done her whole life. Xolia had always been secretly jealous of how naturally assimilation came to her friend.

“Are you ready for the gala?” Xolia asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Rowan said, fully abandoning her work for the time being. “Are you actually going to show up with Marshall this time?”

Xolia pursed her lips. In her opinion, that wasn’t a fair shot. Three years after the rebellion, Marshall and Xolia had been reacquainted through Rowan. Like Rowan, Marshall was a paragon of seamless assimilation. He exemplified everything that Xolia had learned happiness was supposed to be. He fit all the boxes of living a fulfilled, ordinary life. And Xolia had nearly ruined their relationship at the last FAR sponsored event when she had insisted they arrive separately.

“I had to be there early, it just didn’t make sense for him to be there, too,” Xolia defended herself.

“Right. And you have to be there early this week as well?” Rowan asked, sarcasm blatant.

“That is part of the requirement for speaking at these events.” Tired of the conversation, Xolia turned to her computer, clicking on the internal messaging software that connected all employees in the building. She tapped her finger against the right button on the mouse, waiting for any news from Grant Howard, the bureau’s director, about the promotion for the vice director position. Directly underneath Howard, it would give Xolia more reach and influence to help the nation’s variants. And with the nation’s first election since the rebellion cresting over the horizon, it was more important than ever to make sure variants were protected.

Finding no new correspondence from Howard, Xolia sighed and opened the rest of her work software. She managed to focus on work for all of three minutes before she spun her chair around to Rowan. “Do you think Howard will announce the next Vice Director before the gala?”

Rowan froze. “I don’t think there was a deadline for the announcement. Why?”

“It would be nice to have good news to tell Peter,” Xolia said.

“You act like you’ve already gotten the promotion. And Peter would be proud of you for just showing up to the event.” Rowan’s words were terse.

Xolia opted to ignore the slight nudge of jealousy. “You don’t think I’ll get it?”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t think you should act like it’s a sure thing before it’s done, you know?”

“Right.” With a curt tone, Xolia effectively ended the conversation, and she turned back to her desk, perturbed by Rowan’s lack of enthusiastic response. Xolia had the most leadership experience out of everyone, barring Director Howard. And she really wanted to impress Peter, a man whose idealism was second to none. Even after her haphazard assault, he never gave up on her. It was he who had insisted she speak every year during FAR’s annual state of the country dinner about her experience going from being Silas’s protégé to living a well-adjusted life, where they celebrated another successful year of peace. If the news about Silas had hit Xolia harder than anticipated, seeing Peter again would fill that parent-sized hole in her heart.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” Rowan said.

Xolia shook her head, of course Rowan wouldn’t mean it that way. “It’s okay.”

Xolia focused on her computer, steeling herself for an uneventful day at work.

Chapter Three

Friday morning found Xolia staring intently at herself in the mirror as she applied makeup. A luxury that never had been allowed in the past, it was one of the best parts of post-war life. The pile of unfolded laundry she sat next to on her bed was the worst.

The spray of the shower turned off in the adjoining bathroom; Marshall was done showering. She paused in her mascara application to sigh in the direction of the door. He would be joining her the entire day while they ran through the evening’s agenda before the official start of the dinner.

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