The cafeteria food still tasted like cardboard and sadness.
They gave it names like lemon pepper chicken or wild rice pilaf, but it was all the same—flavorless mush you forced down because, eventually, hunger always won.
I was sitting at a table in the back corner, picking at a limp salad, when Sardine dropped her tray across from me with a loud clatter. She had that look again—the one that meant trouble—and leaned in like she was about to share state secrets.
“You wanna sneak out with me tonight?” she whispered, eyes dancing.
I blinked at her. “What do you mean sneak out? There are fences. Security. Cameras.”
She smirked. “I’ve been here longer than you. I know how to get around all that. Trust me.”
“And what exactly are we sneaking out for?” I asked, a little wary.
“There’s a fire
