"I had a friend," she said. "He worked in intake records. He cleaned mine up. Three days later I got the transfer."
She'd moved into my old bunk and slept fine for three weeks. The first knock came on a Tuesday night, past curfew.
"Two of them. Cloaks. Gloves. Voice scramblers. They put my original intake printout on my pillow. Said do what we say and nobody pulls the file."
"What did they ask for."
"Small things at first. Your schedule. Where you went on breaks. Who you sat with at meals." Her hands flexed inside the restraints. "Then it got bigger."
"Bigger like the sub-level," Vane said from the wall.
She nodded. The tears were back, silent now, dropping straight onto her shirt.
"They said the Destroyer would handle the rest. I just had to get you to the door. After that I was cl
