“That should, uh, kick in within a few minutes,” Kiva said, taken aback. She gestured to the gray tunic and pants that Tipp had placed at the end of the metal bench. “Those are for you.”

She busied herself by returning the empty tumbler to the workbench as the young man changed, leaving Tipp to help him. When she’d put all the ingredients back in their rightful places and could no longer act like she had something to do with her hands, she turned around to find the man dressed, with everyone watching her, waiting. Naari included.

Looking pointedly at the guard, Kiva said, “Isn’t this where you step in?”

She wasn’t sure what it was about this young man that was getting to her. All her self-preservation instincts were going haywire. She would never have talked to any guard so directly before today. She hadn’t lasted ten years in this place by being reckless.

Naari’s dark brows rose a fraction, as if she knew what Kiva was thinking—and agreed with her. But just as Kiva tried to figure out how to beg forgiveness and avoid punishment, the guard said, “I’m allocating him to you for orientation.”

Kiva jerked with surprise. She was never tasked with prisoner orientation. She’d done it once or twice back when she’d been in the workrooms, but never since undertaking her role as the prison healer.

“But . . . what about . . .” Kiva started, then tried again. “I have patients to see to.”

Naari’s brows rose even higher as she looked around the empty infirmary. “I think your patients”—she nodded to the two dead men—“can wait.”

Kiva had meant the prisoners who were quarantined, but Naari’s posture had tightened, so Kiva swallowed her reply. Orientation wouldn’t take long. She’d show the young man around Zalindov, find out which cell block he was assigned to, then leave him with his cellmates for the night. Tomorrow he’d be given a work allocation, and someone else would take over from there.

“Fine,” she said, wiping her hands—still stained with his blood—on a damp cloth. Once they were mostly clean, she moved toward the infirmary’s exit. “Follow me.”

Seeing Tipp step forward as well, Kiva cut off his advance by saying over her shoulder, “Can you go and tell Mot that we need a collection?” She dipped her chin toward the deceased men.

Tipp shuffled his feet and wouldn’t meet Kiva’s gaze. “Mot isn’t real h-happy with me right now.”

Kiva paused at the door. “Why?”

If anything, Tipp looked even more uncomfortable. He glanced from Kiva to Naari, then back again, and Kiva realized that it must be bad if Tipp was managing to keep a filter around the guard.

With a sigh, she said, “Never mind, I’ll do it myself. Can you check on the quarantined patients? Wear a mask, and don’t get too close.”