When Amara led her into the sleeping quarters, Elora stopped short, blinking in surprise. Nothing here was as she expected.
Saying the room was large would be an understatement. Rows of bunk beds filled the space, the thin mattresses neatly made but worn with use. There was no privacy here, just a sea of beds lined up in columns, each one identical, each one impersonal. The realization hit her: she would live in this shared space, surrounded by other wards, with no escape, no retreat to any place of her own.
Stupid, she thought bitterly.It was stupid to think I’d get my own room.
She had been so used to the student quarters, small rooms shared with just one other person. She hadn’t considered that the sleeping arrangements would be different here. But as she looked around the crowded room, a small sense of relief crept in, surprising her.
There was safety in numbers. And after the other night, when she should have felt safe but never had felt more terrified, she preferred this arrangement.
Amara gestured toward one of the empty bunks at the far end of the room. “That one’s yours. It’s not much, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor. Mine’s the one above.” She dropped the book on her mattress.
Elora nodded, moving toward the bed, aware of the other wards observing her as she passed. They snickered, no doubt recognizing her from the party. But she ignored them. She lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress, the thin padding barely soft under herweight, but she didn’t care. At least it was something she was able to call her own. They took everything else from her: her journal of alchemy notes and doodles, her worn brown cloak she loved to curl up in on wintry nights, and the straw-stuffed doll Tehvan had given her.
Amara stood nearby, watching her cautiously. “I’ll show you the washroom,” she said, breaking Elora from her thoughts. “It’s not much better.”
The woman’s washroom was just as stark as the sleeping areas, with rows of sinks, a few rusted mirrors, and showers lined up along one wall, no curtains. Only the privies had doors.
The lack of privacy made Elora shudder. She chewed on her thumbnail, trying to subdue the rising discomfort. It took her years to change openly with Arria, and never fully. Now she would have to be completely bare in front of the other woman if she wanted to clean herself.
Amara hovered near the door, hands held gently together, her gaze soft as she watched Elora take in her surroundings. She didn’t push or pry, simply waited, offering a comforting silence. It was clear she was trying to make the transition as gentle as possible.
“It gets easier,” Amara said. “I know it seems impossible now. But you get used to it. You have to.” Elora nodded. But she knew she wouldn’t have to get used to it.Hold on a bit longer.Tehvan’s voice reassured her. This would only be temporary.
They left the washroom, and Amara escorted her back down the hall to a door across from the big common room. It led them to a modest dining hall, with a lackluster kitchen in the corner and a few rows of long tables with rickety chairs. Tall, barred windows broke up the white glow of moonlight.
There was a serving dish with a small amount of summer squash soup. The fragrance of cinnamon and cloves was still intense despite its lack of freshness. They both grabbed a bowl and sat down in the empty hall.
Despite the spices, the soup tasted bland, even a tad rotten, compared to what she had eaten as a student. The wards must only get the table scraps from what the students didn’t finish. A pang of guilt twisted in her gut. She wanted to apologize, though she wasn’t sure what for. They had all experienced the good life–fresh food, warm beds, privacy–and they had all failed. Now, these scraps were their portions, a fitting reflection of their place at the Institute. They, too, were nothing more than the leftovers.
I’m going to get you out of here. I will find a way.She had to believe him. “Has anyone ever… escaped?” She asked Amara.
Amara glanced up, her expression softening as her lips drooped into a frown. She let out a slow breath and stared down at her soup, twirling the spoon in slow circles. “Some have,” she mumbled. “Others have tried… and failed.”
Elora paused, a spoonful of soup inches from her mouth. She couldn’t believe what she just heard. Have people actually escaped? How had she not heard about this before?
“How did they do it?”
Amara glanced around the room, eyeing the windows high on the walls, each one covered with iron bars.
Elora followed her gaze. “Is that why they put the bars on the windows?”
Amara nodded, her lips compressed into a thin line. “They had to, after enough people succeeded.”
Elora frowned.That doesn’t make sense. We’re on the third floor. They don’t always stay in the wards’ quarters.Why even go that way?
“But how?” she asked, gesturing to the window. “How would anyone survive getting out that way? It’s a long drop…”
Amara said nothing, but she didn’t need to. Elora noticed the glistening of tears forming in her eyes, the unspoken grief etched into the creases in her forehead and the dip in the corners of her mouth.
Amara wasn’t referring to escaping the island. She wasn’t talking about freedom at all.
A cold prickle crept along Elora’s arms, igniting goosebumps in their wake. “You mean… escape from life?”
“Some people can’t take it anymore.” Amara spun the spoon in her soup, unable to meet Elora’s eyes. “They’d rather endure the fall than stay here another day.”
Elora’s heart sank. The sight of those barred windows, the iron grates meant to keep them all from even the faintest hope of a skewed idea of escape, suddenly seemed far more sinister. It wasn’t about protecting them. It was about stopping them from ending the nightmare on their own terms. Just another form of control. Though she should expect nothing less from Thorn.
“Has anyone…” she trailed off, her voice catching in her throat, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Has anyone you’ve known... escaped?”
