Kiva spun around, not having heard Jaren’s arrival in the infirmary. Perhaps Tipp wasn’t the only tired one.

“The problem,” Kiva said, not wasting energy asking why he was there, “is that Rayla is from administration.”

Jaren cocked his head to the side, making the tunnel dust smeared up one half of his face even more noticeable. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“She’s f-f-favored,” Tipp answered for Kiva, before yawning widely and swaying again.

Alarmed, Jaren reached for him, and with a look that brooked no argument, led him over to one of the metal benches and waited pointedly until he sat. While Kiva was relieved to see the young boy now off his feet, she still grumbled internally that it was Jaren’s intervention that had convinced him to move, when she’d been begging him to rest for over an hour.

“What do you mean, favored? ” Jaren asked.

Naari, on duty at the entrance to the infirmary, made a coughing sound. Kiva felt like doing the same. But instead, she answered the question, as delicately as she could.

“It means she’s given extra comforts from the guards—warmer clothes, better rations, safer work allocations, that kind of thing—in return for . . . services.”

“I don’t g-get it,” Tipp said, yawning again. “I mean, what k-k-kind of services can she g-give that others aren’t giving them? They already have p-prisoners doing their laundry, making their meals, and c-cleaning their quarters. There’s n-nothing else they need.”

Naari coughed again, and neither Kiva nor Jaren answered.

“I see,” Jaren said tightly. “But I still don’t get how Rayla-from-administration is a problem.”

“The favored prisoners are kept separate from the rest of us,” Kiva shared. “Rayla would have had little to no interaction with anyone other than the guards that she . . .” She cleared her throat, and rallied on. “Even her sleeping quarters are away from the rest of the cell block dormitories, closer to the guards’ quarters.”

Or inside those quarters on any given night, Kiva didn’t need to add.

“She shouldn’t be sick,” Jaren said, realization lighting his features.

“She shouldn’t be sick,” Kiva confirmed. “I mean, it’s not impossible that she’s been in contact with an infected person, but if that were true, why are none of the guards that she’s been—” Kiva broke off with a quick look at Tipp before turning back to Jaren. “Uh, been near, getting sick?”

“Are you saying that none of the guards have fallen ill?”

Kiva swiveled to find that Naari had moved closer on silent feet, joining their conversation.

“None,” Kiva stated, still slightly uneasy talking to the amber-eyed guard, even if the feeling had been slowly dissolving.

“How many prisoners are sick?” Naari asked.