Below the stage, in the competitor's corridor, Sophia stood alone against the wall and breathed.
She was wearing the dress. The academy uniform, properly buttoned, properly pressed, and under it, invisible to every eye in the gathering hall, her body carried the ledger of everything her master had done to her. The teeth marks along her breasts. The fading bruises on her inner thighs. The marks on her neck the collar of her uniform was specifically tall enough to hide. A young woman dressed like a student, standing like a student, and underneath the fabric she was a stand bearing his erection marks and bite history like a signature page.
She looked across the corridor.
Elena was there, already in her combat dress, already glaring at her with the flat cold hatred of a woman who had waited weeks for a legal opportunity.
