She only just refrained from saying that those two jobs were the worst Zalindov had to offer—the tunnelers and pumpers. Quarriers came in at a close third, followed by lumbersmiths and harvesters.

“Now, forget about the tunnels for the moment and listen closely so you don’t get lost,” she told him, mostly because his eyes were losing clarity the longer they stood there. She turned and pointed. “The infirmary is that way.” She pivoted counterclockwise and pointed again. “Barracks, entrance block, front gate.” Another pivot. “Harvest factory for grain and produce sorting, and the luminium depository behind it.” Another pivot. “Kitchens and refectory.” She paused to add, “You’ll be given a meal schedule with your work allocation tomorrow. Don’t skip meals. Rations are scarce, especially in winter, and you’ll need all the strength you can get.”

She waited for his murmured agreement, then pivoted again. “The cell blocks are beyond the refectory. That’s where we’ll head now. There are ten in total, three hundred or so inmates per block.”

Jaren’s eyes widened. “Three hundred? All sleeping in the same building?”

“Just wait until you see the latrines. You’re in for a treat.”

At his horror-struck expression, Kiva took pity on him. “You’ll get used to it. There are three stories per cell block, so it’s really only a hundred per floor. And, honestly, in a day or two, you’ll be too tired to care, anyway.” Assuming he survived that long.

Jaren pulled a face. “Is that meant to make me feel better?”

This time Kiva did look to Naari, since this was another perfect example of why she shouldn’t be doing orientation. The guard didn’t even try to hide her amusement.

Turning back to Jaren, Kiva attempted to rally some kind of encouragement. “There’s nothing I can tell you that will prepare you for what you’re about to experience. I’m sorry, that’s just the reality of Zalindov. This place will test you to your limits, and beyond. But it’s not impossible to survive it. I’m living proof of that.”

Jaren’s eyes held hers as he quietly asked, “What’s your secret? To surviving, I mean?”

She considered her words carefully before answering, “It helps if you have something to live for. To fight for. It grounds you, gives you a reason to get up every morning. It gives you a reason to want to survive. And sometimes, it’s the wanting that makes all the difference. Because once you give up in here”—she pointed to her heart—“then you’re already as good as dead.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What’s your something? What are you living for?”

Kiva arched a brow. “That is none of your business.” She started walking forward again. “Let’s get you to your cell block. A few hours’ sleep and you’ll wake up feeling much better.”