“Head inside and take the stairs to your left, then claim a pallet up on the second floor,” she told Jaren. “Bathing chambers and latrines are at the far end of the ground floor. The water in the shower block isn’t heated, so move fast, and don’t get your clothes wet or you’ll catch a chill.” She made herself meet his eyes as she added, “There’s no gender separation for sleeping or bathing, so there’s an unspoken rule about respect. The guards don’t enforce it, but life here is hard enough without constantly worrying about when you’ll next be assaulted, so prisoners try to look out for each other.”

Jaren’s brows pulled together. “That doesn’t seem foolproof.”

“It’s not,” Kiva confirmed. “But it’s rarely the prisoners you have to watch out for. As I said earlier—everyone’s too tired to cause problems like that.”

Noting her wording, Jaren asked, “What about the guards?”

Kiva looked away, her forearm throbbing in reminder. “They’re not as tired.”

When she turned back to Jaren, his jaw was clenched. “Have they ever— Have you ever—”

“That’s another question you should never ask anyone here,” Kiva interrupted firmly. She was aware of Naari standing only a few paces away, silent and still.

Jaren looked like he was about to argue, but then he raised his good hand and ran it agitatedly through his hair, instead asking, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Kiva faced him dead-on. “There’s lots you should know, but the one thing you need to remember is this: here at Zalindov, the only person you can trust is yourself.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode back toward the infirmary, his orientation officially complete.

Chapter Six

“I hear one of the new arrivals survived,” Warden Rooke said, sipping amber liquid from a crystal tumbler. Standing tall and proud, he peered through his window atop the southern wall. While most of the guards had personal quarters within the barracks, the Warden lived high above them all. Watching—always watching. “Not his companions?”

Kiva shook her head, perched stiffly in his sitting room, barely an hour after leaving  Jaren with Naari outside their cell block. “Both dead.”

“Hmm,” Rooke murmured, swirling his liquor. With dark skin, cropped hair, and a short beard, he looked like many of the other burly guards. But it was his scar that set him apart, cutting above and below his right eye, like an interrupted diamond. That, and the authority that dripped off him, enhanced by his black leather uniform all the way down to his perfectly polished boots. “The survivor was covered in blood. Is he badly damaged?”

Careful, always so damn careful about the information she shared, Kiva answered, “Nothing permanent.”

Warden Rooke smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. That’s good.”