Past the dark hallway was a room that seemed slightly brighter. Slightly, of course. It only meant a few half-melted candles flickering weakly, just enough to light the floor ahead. The hallway behind her was so dark that one careless step could have sent her crashing down. She let out a small sigh of relief once she stepped into the open space, her movements growing quicker. The hall was scattered with women sitting in small groups. Some had tangled hair. Some stared into space with hollow eyes. Others gave off the faint odor of decay. The one thing they all shared was how plain they looked. A few were even painfully unattractive. The women huddled together in small groups around the hall, trembling and pressing close to share what little warmth they could. The circular room was lined with doors. Most of them stood open, their owners gathered out here. From the few that were closed came muffled, lewd noises—women's moans tangled with the guttural grunts of men. The girl kept walking, her face calm and unreadable, as though she neither saw nor heard anything. A woman sitting on a chair suddenly called out sharply, "Hey, Selene! When's our food coming?" Selene Landerson stopped and turned her head. "How should I know? I'm not the one cooking." The woman's eyes were dull, her tone accusing. "You're carrying food, aren't you? You just came from the kitchen!" Selene brushed a few loose strands of hair off her face. "This isn't yours. I didn't check on your meals. Just wait. It'll get here soon enough."The woman's voice rose. "Why do those useless old hags get better food than us? We break our backs for those bastards, and we're the ones stuck eating scraps?" Selene glanced at her, a brief flicker of pity crossing her eyes before they turned cold again. "How would I know? I just do what I'm told." She turned away and kept walking, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her hair was coarse, and she hadn't tied it well that morning. Stray strands on the right side kept brushing against her cheek, tickling her skin. Her hands were full, so after a few steps she tilted her head and used her shoulder to rub the side of her face. She had barely moved forward when the woman's mocking voice rang out behind her. "Look at her strutting around like she's someone special! Skirt over thick pants, just dying for someone to stare at her ass. Makes me sick!" Another woman nudged her nervously. "Quiet down. She's still out here. She can hear you." The first woman sneered and raised her voice even louder. "So what if she can hear? I'm only speaking the truth! She was a shameless tease back when we worked together, and now she's even worse!" Her voice turned sharper with every word. "What's she so damn proud of anyway? Licking the boots of those filthy men isn't something to brag about!" Selene turned around and stared straight at her. For a second, the woman hesitated, but she quickly straightened up, glaring right back. "What are you looking at?" That same loose strand of hair slipped down Selene's cheek again. She sighed, set the tray down, and crouched. Pulling the tie from her hair, she gathered it up and tied it back neatly this time.Relief washed over her as the irritation finally eased. She took a quiet breath, crouched again, and looked at the tray. Two plates of risotto. Two bowls of soup. After a short pause, she lifted one of the soup bowls. The order had been clear: those two frail, white-haired women had to be kept alive and fed well until they died naturally. But taking one bowl of soup wouldn't kill them. Selene stood and walked toward the loud woman. She raised the bowl, took a slow sip, and watched as the woman swallowed hard. Then she smiled, her voice cutting and cool. "Being a bootlicker is better than whatever you're doing. Do you even get soup? The woman in the chair flinched under Selene's sharp stare. Her pride cracked, and she sprang to her feet. "What did you just say?" Selene arched a brow and said again, her tone smooth but biting, "I said being a bootlicker like me has its perks. I know how to keep people happy. "I get real food, warm clothes, and a bed to sleep in. That's still better than being a mule like you, worked to death and ridden by any man who feels like it." The words were filthy and cruel, each one hitting like a slap. The woman trembled. Whether from rage or cold, it was hard to tell. The two of them standing side by side couldn't have looked more different. Selene wore two thick coats and heavy boots that didn't quite fit but kept her warm. The other woman had only a couple of thin jackets and a blanket draped around her shoulders. Her feet were shoved into old slippers, her skin was blue from the cold, and she shivered from head to toe. Selene's eyes darkened. She tossed the soup in her hand straight into the woman's face.