I expected a quick denial. Instead, Jake nodded ruefully. “In the alleys, in the bars, breaking up fights. Finding the quiet drunks a cot for the night.”

“You?”

“Way too often. What else was there to do but drink, with all the theatres closing, not even anything to go see? Why even bother to get up in the morning?”

Daniel’s gaze wandered off into the mess hall’s shadowed corners. “That’s the thing, isn’t it—finding a new reason when your old one is gone.”

“Yep. Took a while, but Rousseau talked me dry. So I guess I made him my reason, him and the den.”

“Good choice.”

Jake laughed. “My liver thanks him every day.”

The chat across the table had turned intimate. I looked to see if Breakers was putting the moves on Jenn now, but no, they’d found another friend in common, lost in Misha, and were mourning her demise. Surprising this sort of thing didn’t turn up more often. Or maybe it did, but people got too tired of revisiting the names of the dead. Had to wonder: if I met someone I’d known before, would I even recognize them?

Rubio gathered up his dish and mug. “C’mon. I got questions for this dude.”

Hated to interrupt Jake’s trip down Memory Lane, all interesting news, but Rubio was on a mission. He slid up beside Daniel like they’d been buddies for life.

Jake made the introductions. Daniel nodded politely and tucked into his meal. His bright, rose-colored T-shirt was freshly hand-stenciled. It said: The Book Dude.

“So, these refugee camps? You got any details?”

Daniel looked to Jake, who nodded. “He’ll find out soon enough. Everyone will.”

A light went on in my brain about what else Jake did at the Souk besides trading for food and supplies. Rousseau’s eyes and ears. His spy. Who didn’t always share what he learned with the rest of us.

Daniel swallowed a forkful of tofu and rice. “Okay, yeah . . . it’s detention, really. Remember all the hype about processing centers, supposed to funnel the refugees off to where there were still jobs and housing, into communities that would accept them? Well, forget it. They’ve stopped processing anyone.”

Jake settled back, looking depressed. He’d heard it already.

Rubio took it in slowly. “And that would be because . . . ?”

“Officially? They’re overwhelmed. Can’t catch up with the paperwork.”

“Fuck the paperwork!”

“Euphemism.”

“For . . . ?”

“Locking the gates.”

“To the camps?”

“To the country.”

Rubio stared at him. “Wait. No. The whole country? Is that legal?”

Daniel’s shoulders slid up and down in opposite directions. “Who’s to say these days?”

“But where are people supposed to go, if they get flooded out or . . . ?”

“They’re not,” Jake put in. “You heard it here. Mainland’s pulling up the ladder.”