Moxie's room was cold and sterile, the walls a drab gray that seemed to absorb all warmth and light. The cot was hard, and the only other piece of furniture was a small metal desk bolted to the floor. The air was heavy with the smell of disinfectant, a stark contrast to the scent of home she had lost.
As the hours passed, Moxie lay on her cot, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety in her chest. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant sounds of footsteps and the occasional murmur of voices in the corridors. She had hoped for a few moments of solitude to collect her thoughts, but the oppressive atmosphere of the Institute made it hard to think clearly.
The door to her room slid open with its usual hiss, and a girl stepped inside. This time, it was not Kira, but a tall girl with a stern face and piercing green eyes. She wore a slightly different uniform—a darker gray with a silver insignia that marked her as one of the older girls, a mentor of sorts.
"New arrival?" she asked, her voice clipped and authoritative. "I'm Amara, one of the senior girls. I'm here to give you a brief orientation."
Moxie sat up, trying to meet her gaze with as much resolve as she could muster. "Yes, I'm Moxie."
Amara nodded, her expression impassive. "We don't have much time. The Warden expects you to be fully integrated into your schedule by tomorrow. I'll show you the basics: where to eat, where to train, and where to avoid."
Moxie followed Amara through the labyrinthine halls of the Institute. The walls were lined with harsh fluorescent lights that cast an unforgiving glare. Every room they passed was functional and sterile—no decoration, no warmth. The Institute was designed to be a place of cold efficiency, a far cry from the warmth and life she remembered.
First, they stopped at the dining hall. The room was large, with long tables and benches arranged in neat rows. At one end was a serving station where a gray-haired woman ladled out food with a mechanical precision. The food itself was unappetizing—gray mush that smelled faintly of metal.
"This is where you'll eat three times a day," Amara said. "The portions are controlled to ensure maximum efficiency. Don't complain about the food; it's not worth the trouble."
Moxie nodded, though the sight of the food made her stomach churn. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten something that wasn't cooked with love or care.
Next, Amara took her to the training area, a vast gym filled with equipment and practice dummies. "This is where you'll train daily," Amara explained. "You'll learn combat skills, obedience drills, and physical conditioning. It's rigorous, but it's the only way to ensure you're fit for your duties."
Moxie observed the other girls working out, their movements synchronized and precise. There was no room for individualism here—only the relentless push for perfection. Moxie's stomach tightened. This was going to be harder than she had imagined.
Finally, Amara led her to the dormitory area, a series of small rooms like the one Moxie had been assigned. "These are your living quarters. You'll share this space with three other girls. Any questions about your room, ask your roommates."
As they reached the end of the tour, Amara's expression softened slightly. "One last thing," she said, lowering her voice. "The Institute has its own set of rules and dangers. Be careful who you trust. Not everyone here is your ally."
Moxie's curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean?"
Amara glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot. "Some girls have been here for years. They've become... loyal to the emperor in ways that aren't always visible. They report on others, keep to the Warden's expectations. It's best to keep a low profile and watch your back."
Moxie absorbed this information, her mind racing with possibilities. The Institute was a web of secrets and dangers, and she had to navigate it carefully.
That evening, as Moxie prepared for bed, her new roommates arrived—three girls who eyed her with varying degrees of interest and suspicion. Kira was among them, though she didn't seem particularly pleased to see Moxie.
"New girl, huh?" Kira said, her tone flat as she adjusted her cot. "Hope you're ready for a long ride."
Moxie tried to sound confident. "I'll manage. Amara said to keep a low profile."
One of the other girls, a petite girl with curly hair named Lena, glanced at Moxie with curiosity. "Is that so? Amara can be a bit of a hard-ass. But she's right about one thing: you'll need to be careful."
Another girl, tall and with a stern expression, added, "If you don't know the rules by now, you'll learn them the hard way. The Warden doesn't tolerate mistakes."
Moxie nodded, taking in the various warnings. She had to tread carefully, forming alliances while avoiding drawing too much attention. Her mind was focused on one thing: survival. The Institute was a place where every misstep could lead to punishment, and she had to be ready for whatever came her way.
Later that night, as Moxie lay on her cot, the sounds of the Institute settled into a dull hum—footsteps echoing in the halls, distant voices, and the occasional clatter of metal. The silence of her own room was a stark contrast to the chaos of her thoughts.
She pulled out a small notebook she had managed to keep hidden. It was the only thing she had from her past, a place to record her thoughts and plans. She began to write, her hand moving swiftly across the page.
Day one at the Institute. The Warden is cold and unforgiving. The training is intense, the food is awful, and the other girls... they're a mixed bag. Some are helpful, some are wary, and some—like Kira—seem to have their own agendas. I need to keep my wits about me and figure out who I can trust. The door Amara mentioned... it's a constant reminder of what happens if I fail. I won't give them the satisfaction.
She closed the notebook and hid it under her cot, her resolve hardening. Moxie knew that to survive, she would need to be smarter, stronger, and more determined than ever before. She wasn't just here to serve. She was here to fight back, to find a way to make a difference, and to honor her parents' memory.