Chapter 827

Melanie jerked away from her touch, but she went.

They backed toward the door, no longer a united front, no longer triumphant. Just two wounded, frightened women dragging their hatred behind them like a chain.

At the threshold, Melanie looked back at Caroline, her face a mask of pure, venomous hatred.

“This isn’t over,” she said.

Caroline tilted her head. “It never is with people like you.”

Melanie slammed the door behind her.

For a beat, no one spoke.

Then Brenna turned slowly toward Caroline. “What in the ever-loving hell was that?”

Caroline exhaled, suddenly aware of the coded page still tucked deep in the blanket seam above her bunk, of the ache in her legs, of the swollen sting of her mouth, of the dangerous new thing she had just chosen.

She had not thrown a punch.

She had not needed to.

Beatrix rose with elegant deliberation and retrieved Brenna’s fallen laundry basket. “That,” she said, placing it back into Brenna’s hands, “was a warning shot.”

Caroline looked at the closed door.

Outside, Melanie’s footsteps faded down the hall, uneven with rage and injury.

Caroline’s expression remained calm.

But inside, every nerve was awake.

Melanie let out a guttural sound, halfway between a roar and a strangled sob, and surged back into the barracks before Blair could stop her.

It was not a clean charge. Her right hand was still splinted, wrapped in thick gauze, and pinned against her chest in a field sling. Every violent step made the broken bones throb. Her left fist came up instead, swinging wildly in a clumsy, telegraphed arc aimed more at Caroline’s pride than her head.

Caroline didn’t retreat. She didn’t even seem to move. Her body simply flowed, a slight pivot of her hips, a subtle shift of her weight. Melanie’s left-handed punch sliced through the empty air where Caroline’s face had been a fraction of a second before.

Thrown off balance by her own momentum and by the uneven weight of the sling dragging at her shoulders, Melanie stumbled. The movement jolted her ruined right hand. A choked cry burst from her throat, sharp and humiliating, and she instinctively folded around the injury rather than following through.

At the same instant, Blair started to move from the other side. She was smarter, her movements more controlled. But her eyes flicked to Brenna, to Beatrix, to the open barracks door, and finally to Melanie’s sling. The calculation showed on her face. This was not the shower block. This was not a closed room with steam and no witnesses.

Caroline’s gaze cut to Blair.

That was all it took.

Blair stopped.

The entire exchange, from the start of Melanie’s failed charge to Blair’s hesitation, had taken less than three seconds.

Melanie finally regained her footing, her eyes wide with a flicker of fear as she realized her ally had not followed. The fear was quickly consumed by a fresh wave of rage.

“Hit her!” Melanie shrieked at Blair, her voice cracking. “Don’t just stand there!”