The dim light of morning filtered through the small barred window, casting long shadows across our cell. I hadn't slept more than fragments through the night, my back aching from leaning against the cold stone wall. The women—Margo, the older one they called Vera, and the third whose name I still didn't know—had stirred early, their movements purposeful as if they knew what to expect.
The sound of boots echoing down the corridor made my stomach clench. Three guards appeared, tall and imposing in their dark uniforms. They stopped outside our cell, eyeing us with smirks that made my skin crawl.
"Morning, ladies," the tallest one said, unlocking the door with a heavy key. "Time for your favorite part of the day."
I watched in confusion as my cellmates straightened their clothes and hair, exchanging knowing glances. The guards entered, and to my shock, the women approached them willingly, hands already reaching for belt buckles and uniform buttons.
