“I hate this job. I hate everything about it.”
Monica had been running this institute for ten years. She’d built it into one of the most respected facilities in the region, a place where tributes were treated with dignity instead of being shuffled through like cattle.
“You’ve been here a long time.”
“I have.” Monica stared at the wall, her eyes distant. “I took this position because someone had to do it right. Most institute managers see the tributes as commodities, as something to trade for peace. They don’t care about the women, not really. They care about quotas and keeping the orcs satisfied.” She shook her head. “I wanted to make sure the women who came through here were treated like people. I wanted to give them real support, real training, a chance to understand what they were walking into.”
“You’ve done that,” Audrey said. “You’ve done more for these women than you know.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t change what this place is. It doesn’t change what I’m a part of.”
She stood abruptly, smoothing down her cardigan as if she could smooth away the conversation along with the wrinkles.
“I should let you settle in.”
She walked toward the door, then stopped with her hand on the knob.
“You need to attend the classes. The ones about orcs and their culture, the history lessons, all of it.”
“I know everything there is to know about orcs,” Audrey said. “I’ve been studying them for years. I’ve tracked them, watched them, learned their habits and their weaknesses. There’s nothing some institute teacher can tell me that I don’t already know.”
“It doesn’t matter. You need to blend in. You need to give the other tributes the impression that you’re one of them, thatyou’re here for the same reasons they are. If you stand out as someone who already knows too much, it could raise suspicions. People will wonder why you’re really here, and they’ll start asking questions.”
Audrey wanted to argue, but she knew Monica was right. She let out a slow breath and nodded.
“Fine.”
“Good. Be careful, Audrey. Please.”
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Audrey sat alone in the silence for a few minutes, staring at the weapons spread across the bed. Then she got to work hiding them. The knives went into the dresser, tucked under folded clothes. The gun went into the back of the bathroom cabinet, behind a stack of towels. The radio, she hid in the bottom drawer, wrapped in a sweater.
When everything was concealed, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tiny bathroom. The shower was small, barely big enough to turn around in, but the water was hot and the pressure strong. She stood under the spray and let it pound against her shoulders, washing away the tension that had knotted itself into her muscles over the past week.
She stayed in the shower longer than she needed to, letting the steam fill the bathroom until the mirror was completely fogged over. When she finally turned off the water and stepped out, she wiped a hand across the glass and stared at her reflection. Her red hair hung wet and dark around her face, dripping onto her shoulders.
She dried off and went back into the bedroom, where she rifled through her clothes until she found a dress. It was a flowy thing, pale blue with thin straps. Monica had told her to bring dresses, and Audrey had packed the few she had but hadn’t worn in years. She pulled it on over her head and smoothed it down, then looked at herself in the mirror above the dresser. The fabricfelt strange against her skin, too light and too revealing. She felt awkward and exposed, like she was wearing a costume that didn’t fit.
But she’d get used to it. She had to.
The classroom was on the first floor, a large room with rows of chairs facing a whiteboard at the front. When Audrey walked in, about ten other women were already seated, scattered throughout the room in small clusters, or sitting alone. A middle-aged woman stood at the whiteboard, writing something in neat block letters.
Audrey took a seat in the back row, as far from the others as she could get without drawing attention to herself. She kept her eyes down and tried to make herself small.
The other women were young, most of them around her age or a few years younger. Only one looked like she might be in her thirties, a woman with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail who sat near the front, with her hands folded in her lap. None of them seemed enthusiastic about being here. They were quiet, their faces closed off.
Audrey’s gaze landed on a woman sitting two rows ahead of her, a blonde with her hair hanging loose around her face. There were old bruises on her neck, faded to yellow and green but still visible. The kind that said someone had wrapped their fingers around her throat. More than once.
She looked away. She understood why these women were here. Not because they wanted to be orc brides. But because the lives they were leaving behind were worse than the unknown future waiting for them.
The teacher turned and cleared her throat.
“Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Mrs. Patterson, and I’ll be guiding you through the history and culture curriculum during your time here.”
Her voice was flat and practiced, the voice of someone who had given this same speech dozens of times before. She launched into the lesson without preamble, writing dates on the board as she spoke.
Audrey stared at the desk in front of her and tried to tune out the words. It was impossible.
