Davina's POV
The corridor stretched ahead in silence as our escort guided us through the ship's narrow passageway, his heavy footsteps creating a rhythmic echo.
No one uttered a word. I wrapped my arms around myself as we followed behind him.
Our guide finally halted before a door and faced us. He raised his hand, pointing without speaking.
Just a simple gesture. His face remained expressionless, impossible to read.
We entered the room.
The space was modest—three metal bunks positioned against the walls. The beds appeared surprisingly clean, each made with folded gray linens and thin pillows placed at the head. A neat pile of clothing rested on a low shelf in the corner. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling above.
I surveyed the room quietly. This wasn't home. Not even remotely. But compared to the cold metal floor we'd endured for days, it was an improvement.
"Thank you," Mom said to the man.
