In the women's dorm, on the fourth floor, in room 417 - where a week ago there had been coffee mugs, open laptops, and piles of exam notes - everything now looked like a makeshift shelter built by people who hadn't planned for war, but had been forced into it.
The door was jammed with a wardrobe tipped on its side, a desk wedged under the handle, and a metal bed they'd shoved against the entrance together on the first day, when the first inhuman sounds had started echoing down the hallway.
Four girls sat on one bed, packed so tightly their shoulders and knees never stopped touching. In conditions like this, you clung to warmth and the presence of other people by instinct - even when the air was stifling and the position miserable.
The smallest of them, a slight brunette named Marta, who'd barely spoken since yesterday, finally leaned toward Karolina and whispered so softly it was barely audible.
"Karolina… I'm hungry… is there anything left?"
