Kiva took precautions herself, but thanks to her work hours being longer than most and her assumed loyalty to the Warden, she usually avoided the attention of the guards. She wasn’t always immune—as had been the case a few weeks earlier when Naari had intervened. But while she’d suffered through being their plaything a handful of times over the years, they’d always stopped before going too far, as if aware that they might need medical aid from her in the future. It was both a blessing and a curse—a blessing, since she was saved from complete violation, but a curse, because she could do nothing to protect others. Sometimes she slept in the infirmary, not only to avoid the restless guards, but also to be available around the clock for those in need of her.

It was on one of these nights, in the early hours of the morning, that Kiva was awakened by a low, keening sound. She’d sent Olisha and Nergal away when they’d arrived for their shift, claiming that she wanted to monitor some of the quarantined patients. In truth, Naari had warned Kiva not to walk back to her cell block alone that night, and since the guard had been needed elsewhere, she couldn’t provide an escort.

Kiva had reeled for hours after her warning. She’d wondered if it was because Naari was a woman, or if it was simply because she was a decent human being, despite her role at Zalindov. Whatever the reason, Kiva was grateful, and after sending Tipp away earlier than usual and telling him to stay close to Jaren, she had remained inside the infirmary and curled up on a pallet when she could no longer keep her eyes open.

The low, keening sound came again, and Kiva stirred more fully, fighting the sleep that tried to pull her back under. But when she realized the noise was coming from Tilda and that it wasn’t just an incomprehensible sound but, rather, a moaned word, she sat up, shoving her legs over the side of the bed and shuffling over to the woman.

“Waaaater. Waaaaaaaater.”

Tilda was straining against her bindings, shaking her head from side to side, staring blindly into the low-lit room.

“I’m here,” Kiva told her, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get you some water.”

Kiva’s heart was pounding in her ears as she rushed to collect a tumbler and dunked it into a pail of fresh water. Vaguely, she noted that a guard was stationed at the door to the infirmary, someone she didn’t recognize. The armed man was peering curiously toward Tilda, no doubt listening closely.

Discomforted by the thought that he’d been watching them both sleep, Kiva avoided eye contact with him and hurried back to her charge, gently raising the ill woman’s head and holding the tumbler to her lips.