Rose's hands trembled as she smoothed her faded skirt, her breaths coming fast, shallow. She looked around the room, at us, at me her eyes wide, begging silently for someone to intervene.
But no one moved. Not one of us dared.
"Please…" Rose whispered, barely audible.
Elizabeth turned, her sharp heels clicking against the wooden floor. "Now."
I felt my nails digging into the thin blanket in my lap, the fabric tearing beneath my grip. Rose's knuckles whitened as she pushed herself up. She swayed, unsteady, and for one awful second I thought she might collapse back onto her cot. But Elizabeth's eyes snapped to her like a whip, and Rose stumbled forward, obeying.
"Don't make me repeat myself," Elizabeth said flatly.
The air felt colder, heavier, as Rose walked toward the door. Her steps were small, dragging, as though each one carried her closer to an execution.
