Nook woke before the morning bell. Her body hadn't rested. Her bones felt hollow, like they'd been scraped clean by worry. The ceiling above her bunk was the same soft beige as always, and the low hum of the ventilation system whispered the passing of time. She sat up slowly. Her hair, stiff with dried sweat, clung to her neck.
Feon hadn't returned the night before.
She pressed her palms against her face. The air was cold. Her thoughts had spiraled all night—possibilities, threats, punishments, secrets. Had she been taken upstairs? Was she caught sneaking the note? Was she still here?
Nook moved on muscle memory. Out of the bunk. Into the bathroom. Teeth brushed. Face washed. A tidy ponytail, as required. She straightened her uniform in front of the mirror. Her fingers fumbled slightly at the collar button.
She stepped into the corridor and paused. Dozens of girls were already filing out of their cubicles. The click of shoes, the rustle of identical uniforms. Some whispered to themselves, others simply stared ahead. Pink and blue ribbons, bobbing through fluorescent light.
Nook scanned the crowd.
No Feon.
The cafeteria was already buzzing when she entered. The smell of steamed rice and boiled greens sat heavily in the air. Metal trays clinked against each other. Girls ate quietly, some in pairs, most alone. The overhead lights burned pale and unfriendly.
Then she saw her.
Feon was sitting near the far window, halfway through her meal. Her face was lowered slightly, fork moving without thought. Her hair was neat, her ribbon secure. From a distance, she looked unchanged. But something in her posture was wrong. She was too composed, too quiet. Like she was performing normal.
Nook grabbed her tray and moved toward her. She sat down without asking.
"Hey," she said, voice low.
Feon glanced up. Her smile was small, stretched, and immediately dropped again.
"Morning."
"Where were you last night?"
Feon looked back at her tray. "Around."
"Feon." Nook said sharply , like a cry that she needs nothing else but the truth.
"I just needed air ,okay. I just got called for extra duty last night."
Nook leaned in. Her voice cracked before she could stop it.
"I waited in that room. For hours. You said to meet you there and I did. I sat there until dinner time. Then I checked the cafeteria and you weren't there either. I thought… I thought maybe they'd taken you. Or that you were gone. I barely slept. I felt like I lost my best friend and it was all my fault."
Feon didn't look up. Her fork scraped the tray quietly.
"You're overthinking everything."
"No I'm not. I know something happened. I can feel it. And you're acting all weird now, like..."
Feon cut in, her tone lighter than before. "Best friend? Didn't know we were that official."
She looked up at Nook and smirked. "You're being dramatic. Everything is fine."
Nook studied her. There was something strained in her voice. Her skin was paler than usual. There was a faint blotch near her collarbone, mostly hidden by light makeup. Her wrists rested against the edge of the table. One of them bore a faint reddish mark. Circular. Like pressure had been applied for too long.
Nook reached forward gently.
"Wait… what happened here?"
Her fingers brushed Feon's wrist.
Feon flinched. Her fork clattered onto her tray.
And suddenly her eyes went distant.
---
The room was dim, lit only by the orange flicker of wall sconces and the reflective gleam of polished leather. The air was thick with the smell of musk and cologne. Red curtains framed black walls. Iron loops were drilled into the ceiling. A mirrored wall reflected every angle.
Feon stood at the center, or rather, she was hung.
Her wrists were cuffed and chained to the ceiling, spread above her head. Her ankles were pulled wide and locked to either side of the room with leather straps, fastened tightly to two bolted chairs. Her body formed an X, restrained and exposed.
She wore only a pair of lacy black panties. Her breasts were bare and trembling with each shallow breath. The curve of her waist caught the light as she shifted, glistening with sweat. Her skin had a rich, golden sheen, smooth and untouched but for the welts. Her nipples stood taut, tiny beacons of vulnerability in the chill. Her beauty was unmissable. An exotic, dangerous kind. A face that could silence a room. Lips full and quivering.
Her eyes swollen from crying. Her hair, once neatly tied, had come undone, falling in damp, disheveled strands across her tear-streaked face. Her lips were stretched around a red ball gag, spit trailing down her chin. Her body trembled.
Lash marks painted her like a map of violence. Thin welts snaked across her thighs, her hips, her ribs. Each one deepened with a fresh stripe of red.
She didn't scream. Not anymore.
She had learned that screaming didn't change anything.
The man stood behind her. Older. Broad-shouldered. His frame carried the weight of age, but not weakness. A small gold chain hung from his thick neck. His hair was trimmed close, his skin ruddy and flushed, as though warmed from within by alcohol and control. His face was severe but calm. Eyes pale and unblinking. Lips thinned with fascination.
It was the German guest.
The same one Nook had served the day before. The one with the quiet, soft-spoken wife.
Now he held a black riding crop in one gloved hand, pacing slowly around Feon like a lion circling a chained gazelle.
He struck again. The sound cracked the air. Feon winced, her teeth clenching against the gag. A muffled sound escaped her throat. He watched her reaction carefully, lips curled in appreciation.
"Beautiful," he whispered into her ear. "Every twitch. Every shiver. Perfect."
Feon closed her eyes. She prepared her body into survival mode. She detached her mind from the pain, from the shame, from the breath of the monster behind her ear.
The leather slapped against her inner thigh. Then her ribcage. Her breath hitched. Tears spilled again. Her body hung in silence except for the rattle of chains and the wet, hissing rhythm of her breath.
---
Back in the cafeteria, Feon yanked her hand away.
"Stay away from me!"
Her voice cracked across the room. Several girls turned. A few of them whispering quiet glances at Nook's table.
Nook froze.
Feon stood abruptly, her tray shaking in her hands. Her eyes glistened, but her face remained composed. She turned and walked away, vanishing into the corridor leading to the assembly hall.
Nook stared after her. Shy and confused. Her heart pounding. The heat of Feon's outburst still clung to her fingers.
The alarm buzzed overhead. Assembly call.
Nook rose. Her tray was still full. She picked it up slowly. Underneath it, folded neatly into the corner of the tray slot, was a note. She hadn't seen it placed. But she knew who it was from. The same rushed handwriting.
**Never trust anyone and keep your head down.**