I’ve never even seen a proper map of our land. Just sketches in books with vague outlines of the six provinces, deliberately keeping us ignorant of our own geography. Yet I’ve memorized maps of the old world from history books—countries and states with borders drawn in odd zigzags, seemingly arbitrary divisions between people who were still allowed to cross them freely.
Those places had rules, yes, governments and laws, butnothing like what we endure now. Nothing so complete in its totalitarianism, so targeted in its cruelty.
My head shakes as I force myself to take one last, lingering look at the horizon. Committing it to memory.
With reluctance, I turn away and approach the wall tile—the only thing that doesn’t belong in this mountain paradise. Elias hadn’t shown me how to shut it down properly, but the remote has a curved edge designed to fit back into a slot in the panel. I press it in, and with a soft click, the mountain dissolves into nothing.
The bare room feels oppressive after the open sky, its walls pressing in on all sides. The tile flips and disappears back into the uniform surface of the wall, leaving no trace of the wonders hidden behind it. I stand still for a moment, recalibrating. I should go back upstairs, but my feet don’t move toward the door. Instead, I find myself staring the direction of the empty corridor that stretches beyond this room.
I’m dying to know what’s in the other rooms. Elias said there were no cameras, but did he mean out there too? I walk from the space before scanning the ceiling and walls, nothing obvious standing out, but that means little. Surveillance doesn’t have to announce itself to be effective.
My fingertips tingle with the urge to try the other doors, to push my luck just a little further. Information is power. And right now, I have so little of either.
But I’m not as stupid as the Commander thinks. If I’m caught snooping through restricted areas, there will be no excuse that saves me. The identity I’ve carefully constructed will shatter like glass, and every man in this building will know the woman hiding beneath the mask.
Not today.
As I venture back to my room, the wall-mounted clockdisplays 22:47. No wonder the place feels abandoned—I lost more time in the simulation than I’d thought.
But that works in my favor now. The showers should be empty, and I desperately need to wash away two days of grime, sweat, and mud. My muscles ache with a deep, persistent throb that makes every movement a reminder of how ill-prepared my body is for this mission.
Grabbing underclothes from my room, I cringe as the door to the main bathroom hisses, revealing a row of stalls and sinks. The smell overwhelms me immediately—a potent mixture of mildew, urine, and cheap soap that has me fighting the urge to cover my nose.
Stars above. Do men really live like this?
I’ve used the smaller bathrooms the entire time I’ve been here, so this is quite the shock. I haven’t showered in days and I’m certain I smell far from fresh, but this is something else entirely.
There’s some grim comfort in the realization that not all male privileges are enviable.
Scurrying to the shower area, every stall is empty, and I choose the one furthest from the door, backed against the wall. With only one neighboring stall, I’m less likely to be seen if someone comes in.
Inside, I peel off my uniform with a gag, the fabric stiff with dirt and dried sweat. I should have done this yesterday, but exhaustion overtook me. I wash each piece of clothing carefully, wringing them out to dry before attending to myself.
When I finally step under the spray, I can’t hold back a groan of pure pleasure. Hot water sluices over my body, carrying away days of accumulated filth, but more importantly, dissolving the tension that’s kept my muscles rigid since I first put on this mask. For just a moment, I allow my vigilance to slip, closing my eyes and letting my shoulders drop.
This is the first time I’ve felt anything approaching comfortable since stepping out of my house. For all the wonders of the simulation room, it couldn’t replicate this deep physical relief.
I scrub my hair three times, working the soap into a lather and massaging my scalp until it tingles. My body gets the same thorough treatment, with special attention to the places where armor and gear have rubbed my skin raw. By the time I’m finished, my skin is pink from heat and friction, but gloriously clean.
As I rinse one final time, fighting the urge to stay under the water forever, I hear sounds from outside the bathroom. The heavy fall of boots, followed by lighter shuffling. My muscles lock instantly, the fragile peace shattered.
No!Not now. I’d specifically waited until everyone was asleep to avoid exactly this scenario.
My fingers shut off the water quickly, grabbing my towel to dry as efficiently as possible. My clothes are still damp, but there’s no help for it. I’ll have to put them on wet and hope I can get back to my room without being seen.
The sounds outside grow closer—muffled voices, then a strange shuffling. There’s something odd about the cadence, almost furtive. And then I hear it clearly: a ragged breath, followed by a low moan.
Oh fuck.
A soft thud against the outer wall confirms my suspicion, followed by whispered words I can’t quite make out, but whose tone leaves little to the imagination.
They’re…
My face heats. Two people. Together. The shuffling intensifies, punctuated by sounds that leave no ambiguity about their activities. I stand frozen, clutching my towel to my chest, unsure what protocol dictates in this situation.
Do I announce myself? I could make a run for it or just pretend I’m not here. None seem like viable options.
“Bend over,” a voice commands, low and rough. “Hold onto the wall.”
