Brie's POV
“Brie,” the head matron says, her voice sharp enough to cut through wool, pointing a thick finger toward the inner doors.
“Go pack your things. You’re moving.”
I count the doors we pass. One, two, three, four... Each one locked, each a room I can’t reach.
My boots press against the cold stone floor while the guards wait by the archway. Counting keeps me from panicking. It pushes the fear down to where I store things I can’t afford to feel.
Mabel steps out from behind a stack of washing tubs, her eyes wide and wet in the flickering candlelight.
“Where are they taking you?” she whispers, clutching my sleeve.
“I guess it will be closer to his rooms,” I answer, my voice flat, like a dead branch snapping underfoot.
“Yes... it will be down the long hall, past the armory,” Matr
