The tally of days on the far wall had gotten muddled. Inaya suspected someone came in and wiped away her old marks whenever they took her out for interrogations. Or perhaps they put her in a new cell each time? Did all the cells look alike, or had she simply gone so mad that she’d lost the ability to think critically about anything at all, even her own surroundings?

She spent much of her time gazing through the vent that brought her air and light, contemplating the filter that masked it. Even if she could shift, the filter posed a problem. The grounds would be wrapped in filters, all of them coded for different individuals. This one would be coded for no one. If she got herself up there and tried to reach through, no doubt it would devour her arm. She needed a way out that did not rely on her suppressed skills.

For a time, she tried to get to know the guards, but they would not speak to her. The girl’s words were the closest thing to a friendly voice she had heard in many weeks.

Look to what you devour… When she closed her eyes, she sometimes thought of Khos, baring his marked skin to her. She tried to remember what was written there, but the words were all in Mhorian, weren’t they? Had she missed some vital clue?

They would move her now, to some work camp, and kill her there. Her only hope was to try and find a way to break free when they moved her. Or perhaps from the camp itself? How secure could it be, if they labored in the open air? Or would they put her underground in some mine? She’d never see the open air again.

Inaya lay on the floor contemplating her fate. It was the uncertainty that hurt her most. The cold, the deprivation, all of that was fine. She didn’t mind being on her own. She didn’t even mind the boredom. It gave her time alone with her thoughts. But the not knowing…

Over the next few days, she heard more movement outside. More heated words. She once heard three Angels walk down the corridor, talking about “riots” and “madness” but she couldn’t make sense of it. She heard women yelling at their jailers for news before their filters were activated.

Then her filter went transparent, sometime in the early evening as the blue dusk bathed her cell. She sat up. Her bones ached, and she was getting sores on her hips from lying still for so long.

Two male jailers dressed in deep brown robes escorted in a tall, thick woman at least twice Inaya’s size.

Inaya found herself backing up further into her cell to make room.

“Sorry, cat gut,” one of the jailers said. “We’re full up in here and you gotta make room.”