“What is that?” Elma asked.

“Insulin pump. I’m diabetic.”

“That can be hard, especially on one so young. But I wouldn’t worry about it,” Elma said. “Those of us with medical needs have been taken care of. I’m sure you will be as well.”

“I’ll be fine for a few more days, anyway,” Fiona said. To prove it, she stood. When she did, a fresh wave of nausea struck. She stumbled and was caught by Elma.

“Slow down, child, you’ll—”

Fiona yanked her arm away. “Let me do this,” she said, her little voice almost a growl. “I can do this.” Driven by a deep desire to be strong like King, she did what she’d seen him do after taking a hard hit or running a long distance. Hands on knees, head between legs, and long, deep breaths. She finished with a deep grunt and stood. She felt stronger, but still dizzy. Though she didn’t let Elma see that. Rook told her that when they were on a mission they had to swallow pain and discomfort to get things done. He made it sound easy.

It wasn’t.

But Fiona had Elma convinced as she stood up straight and rolled her little neck. When she opened her eyes again, the woman had taken a step back with a hand to her mouth. “Child, you may be the toughest person here.”

The statement helped Fiona stand still as her body threatened to buckle over and wretch. She swallowed, knowing that Rook had meant pain-swallowing as a metaphor, and forced a cocky King-style smile. “Just trying to take after my dad.”

Elma’s eyes were wide. “And … who is your father?”

“You can ask him when he—” Fiona lurched forward and vomited at the base of her cot. After three heaves and a coughing fit, she spit the remaining bile from her mouth and stood with tears in her eyes. Elma stepped forward and held her. Fiona melted into her hug. “Not as tough as you thought.”

“Nonsense,” Elma said, brushing a hand over Fiona’s straight black hair. “Some of these people did not stop crying for days. Some still cry.”

Fiona looked up at her. “How long have you been here?”

“Three months.” She motioned to the groups around the room, some of whom were looking their way. “Others are new arrivals like you. The longest have been here for a year.”

Fiona slumped in Elma’s embrace, horrified. “A year.”

“We are well cared for,” Elma said, her voice suddenly hopeful. “Look there,” she said, pointing to a door at the far end of the room that Fiona had missed during her dizzy turnabout. “We’re fed three times a day. And the food isn’t bad.” She pointed to the other end of the room where several hanging sheets divided the space. “There is a toilet with working plumbing, and a shower with drainage there. The water is cold, but it is nice to be clean. Even the lighting was carefully chosen.”

Fiona looked up at the string of lights hanging from the ceiling, spaced out every ten feet in a grid from one end to the other.