"You'll need a name," the Warden said as we stepped past the gates. "Out here, you're no number. As far as they know, 06/50 is ash already. Dead."
His voice carried no ceremony, just fact. My stomach twisted. Dead. Burnt. Forgotten. But I would get something else. A name. A life. A mask.
He told me to call him Captain Thorne, and together we walked across the street into a restaurant that glowed with warmth.
The air was filled with sound—forks scraping plates, children laughing, conversations rising and falling like a tide. The scent of roasted meat and butter made me dizzy. My eyes darted from table to table. Families leaned close, lovers smiled, friends clinked cups.
Life.
I whispered to Thorne, throat tight:
"They're eating. Laughing. Right here. Do they… not know?"
Before he could answer, a waitress appeared. She set menus down, then froze, catching my words. Her laugh was sharp and bitter.
"Oh, they know. Everyone knows. What—another Warden who can't stomach justice?"
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in, voice dripping with certainty.
"Those bastard Kulums. Always raping, kidnapping, murdering. Whenever you see a crime in the papers, nine times out of ten—it's one of them. We're only protecting ourselves. Protecting everyone."
My mouth opened, but Thorne spoke first, his tone casual, almost bored.
"There are millions of them. Not even ten percent are punished."
The woman sniffed, brushing the comment aside like dust.
"Well, they're always the ones in the news."
Thorne tilted his head. "One of us was punished just two days ago. For raping a Kulum girl to death."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "An obvious exception. There's always one or two, sure. But look around." She gestured at the room, her voice rising, proud. "Look at this dinner. Do you see how peaceful it is? There isn't a single Kulum here. Better that way. I don't ever want to see their disgusting pale skin while I eat.
Plus their always going around raping our women and our children, there's nothing wrong if they're dealt it once in a while."
She smiled sweetly, as though she'd just blessed us with truth.
My hands tightened under the table until my nails dug my palms raw. The smell of food turned sour in my throat.
They weren't blind.
They weren't ignorant.
They wanted us gone.