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“If you ever win a fight, feel free to look me up,” Harper said.
“I will.”
Will I?
A moment passed but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was now when we were meant to say goodbye and neither of us was much in the mood for that.
I leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. She did the same for me.
Why did this goodbye feel so much harder than any other?
She raised a hand, waved, and disappeared inside the Prize Pool.
Never to be seen by me again.
I felt angry at myself for letting her go. I wasn’t even willing to take a chance that things might, somehow, work out between us.
I should have known better. The risks were far too high.
I had to let her go. I had no other choice.
I turned and headed back down the hallway I’d come from.
An armed guard caught sight of me and looked about ready to approach me and force me to join the rest of the forced labor.
I’d be damned if he thought I was going to help clean up a mess I had no part in.
I had a slate of lies I could tell him: “I’m carrying out an errand for another workgroup. I have to return to them now or the guard will get angry.”
Or: “I would love to help but my arm’s sore from defending myself against the prisoners you were meant to protect me from.”
I doubted the latter would go down very well.
I needn’t have worried. The overhead speaker system wheezed and the deep voice spoke again.
“Trayem Keyon,” he said. “Report to the supervisor’s office at nine fifteen a.m. I repeat, Trayem Keyon, report to the supervisor’s office. That is all.”
I pointed to the overhead speaker system and shrugged my shoulders apologetically.
I headed toward the supervisor’s office with a deep twisting sensation in the pit of my stomach.
The supervisor’s office was adjacent to the Prize Pool. Was this on purpose? So the supervisor could take advantage of the Pool easier than the prisoners? Or was it to remind the prisoners who was king here? He kept his concubines close and only let victors use them when he saw fit.
Or maybe it was only coincidence.
I met the pair of guards at the bottom of the steps that led up to the supervisor’s office. Neither spoke at my approach.
“I’m Trayem Keyon,” I said. “I’m here to see the new supervisor. I have an appointment.”
For the longest time, the guards stood there staring. I was about to repeat what I’d said when the one on the left spoke into his communicator.
“Prisoner identification number 64732 here to see the supervisor,” he said.
He nodded at the message he heard on the other end of the line and waved for me to enter.
I climbed the steps behind the guard while the other man remained positioned at the foot of the steps.
They really weren’t taking any chances. And why would they when there was a chance the prisoners could easily riot again? I knew if I was in charge of his security detail, I’d do exactly the same thing.
