MK didn't see Shriya often, and that absence became its own kind of violence.
At first, MK told herself it was coincidence. Rotations. Security protocols. But patterns formed quickly in places like this. Certain people were isolated. Certain names were watched more closely. Shriya belonged to that category. Her group moved with more guards, tighter spacing, fewer privileges. MK noticed the way officers lingered near her, the way conversations stopped when Shriya spoke too freely.
It was separation by design.
MK scrubbed the hall that morning until her arms trembled. The brush she'd been given was stripped and frayed, its bristles bent sideways, scraping more than cleaning. Sweat soaked through her shirt. Her shoulders screamed each time she leaned down. This wasn't work—it was erosion.
When the afternoon shift change was announced, relief hit her so hard it almost hurt.
They lined up to be led out. Another group entered from the opposite side, already tired, already resigned. MK barely looked at them until—there.
Shriya.
At the back of the line. Guard close enough to touch. Head lowered.
MK's breath stalled in her chest. Every time she saw her, it felt like being struck somewhere soft and unguarded. No amount of preparation helped.
She leaned forward, close to Vivian's shoulder.
"Can I take tomorrow's shift today?" MK asked, casual on the surface. "I'm not that tired."
Vivian turned slowly, eyes assessing.
"I can ask," she said. "But you'll owe me."
"Sure."
MK didn't hesitate. She never did when it came to Shriya.
She stepped into the room without thinking, fingers brushing Shriya's wrist as she passed, guiding her just enough that it looked accidental. Just enough that it wasn't.
The contact detonated.
Shriya gasped, the sound small but sharp, like she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath for days. MK felt it all at once—the tension, the exhaustion, the months of fear compressed into a single touch.
Shriya's hand closed around MK's instinctively.
Too fast.
Too tight.
They were breathing too loudly.
MK pressed her back against the wall,
They barely reached cover before MK pulled her close. The kiss was rushed and hungry, mouths colliding without finesse. It wasn't pretty. It was necessary. When they broke apart, both were breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching.
"I miss you," Shriya whispered.
"I know," MK said. "I'm trying."
They separated quickly. The place didn't allow softness for long.
After that, patterns changed.
Every Thursday, MK worked extra. It became expected. Guards joked about it. The only other time she saw Shriya was during field breaks, always from a distance, always watched. Shriya was never alone.
Vivian noticed everything.
She liked MK—liked her grit, her sharp instincts, the way she learned fast. But the way MK softened around Shriya irritated her. It felt inefficient. Dangerous. Affection made people predictable.
The idea didn't arrive all at once. It grew.
MK rose fast. Second only to Vivian. With rank came movement. Errands replaced scrubbing. Deliveries replaced punishment. Guards listened when she spoke. She didn't question it. She was too busy surviving.
Shriya noticed the change too.
"You're different," she said one evening, when MK managed to linger longer than usual.
"Tired," MK replied.
"No," Shriya said. "Sharper."
MK didn't answer.
Days went by.
MK had been tasked with enforcing order during field drills. Shriya's group was slower that day—deliberately, MK thought. The guards were watching. Vivian was nearby.
"Move," MK said, louder than necessary.
Shriya glanced up, surprised. "We're moving."
"Not fast enough."
"You don't have to talk to me like that."
MK felt eyes on her. Pressure built.she didn't know that would be the start of her mistake.
"I do," she snapped. "Here, I do."
Later, when they were alone, Shriya confronted her.
"You embarrassed me," she said. "On purpose."
"I was doing my job."
"No," Shriya said. "You were showing off."
The words stung more than MK expected.
"You don't understand what this place does," MK shot back. "I'm keeping us safe."
"By turning into them?"
MK went quiet. The argument ended unresolved, hanging between them like a warning neither wanted to read.
The second fight came louder.
Vivian fed MK another task—discipline. A test.
"She's stirring things," Vivian said smoothly. "You see it too."
MK didn't answer. She didn't deny it either.
In the field, the crowd gathered easily. It always did when punishment was coming.
"Teach her," someone called.
MK's chest tightened. Shriya stood across from her, jaw set, eyes searching.
"Stand down," MK muttered, low enough only Shriya could hear.
"I didn't do anything," Shriya replied.
"Just—stand down."
"I won't kneel for nothing."
The crowd pressed in. Vivian's gaze burned.
MK's voice rose. "You think you're special?"
Shriya stared at her. "You think you are?"
The silence snapped.
MK shoved her.
It wasn't hard—but it was public.
Later, Shriya's voice shook with anger. "You touched me like I was nothing."
"I had to."
"You didn't," Shriya said. "You chose to."
MK hated that she couldn't argue.
The third fight broke something.
By then, MK was used to the cheers. Used to the way power settled into her posture. Used to how people stepped aside.
When Vivian told her to make an example, MK didn't question it.
"Kneel," MK ordered.
Shriya didn't move.
The slap came fast. Sharper than MK intended.
Shock rippled through the field. Through Shriya.
"What are you doing?" she whispered. "You ."
MK felt something twist—but the crowd was roaring now.
"You liked it," Shriya said quietly when they met alone. "Didn't you?"
MK opened her mouth. Closed it.
"You didn't just hurt me," Shriya continued. "You used me."
"I was protecting you."
"No," Shriya said. "You were protecting yourself."
The fights continued quieter. Crueler.
MK started correcting Shriya in public. Interrupting her. Assigning her harder tasks. Each time, she told herself it was strategy. Distance was safer. Attachment was weakness.
"You don't look at me anymore," Shriya said one evening.
MK turned away. "This is bigger than us."
"Is it?" Shriya asked. "Or are you afraid of who you are without it?"
"I don't recognize you."
MK swallowed. "I'm doing what I have to."
"For who?" Shriya asked.
MK had no answer.
Shriya looked at MK and she could see it her eyes ,power was changing,her or was unleashing, something that had been there but caged.
Power hadn't taken her all at once.
It had asked for small things.
A raised voice.
A public shove.
A slap justified by survival.
And MK had given them willingly. In expense of shriyas dignity.