BNWO

Intro The hotel lobby gleamed like obsidian under the morning sun. Jenna adjusted her collar and checked her reflection in the chrome trim beside the elevator. The black spade on her cheek stood out against her pale skin—bold, unashamed. It had been two years since she got the tattoo. Sixteen and trembling, she'd sat in the chair while the technician hovered, needle buzzing. Her mother had gripped her hand tight until the first drop of ink hit. Then she let go, turned her head, and wept. "Why are you crying?" Jenna had whispered, voice dry. “Because it’s real now,” her mother said, eyes swimming. “Because we lost.” But Jenna hadn’t felt like she lost. Not then. The Sovereign States weren’t built for mourning. They were built for order, for penance, for balance—depending on who you asked. And Jenna had chosen early to lean in, not fight the tide. She liked the structure, the clarity of roles. Here, the lines were clean. In the linen closet, her boyfriend waited—stooped behind folded towels, his hands callused from the maintenance wing. His hair was damp with sweat, his eyes always darting, as if the walls might close in. “I saw him again,” he said. “Who?” “The Councilman. With the robe and the gold rings. He looked right at me. Like I was furniture.” “You kind of are,” Jenna said, her tone light but without apology. He looked wounded. She softened. “That’s not a bad thing. You’re here. You’re part of it. We serve. That’s what makes it work.” He traced the outline of her tattoo. “I could never wear that.” “I didn’t ask you to.” They stood quietly for a moment, the hum of laundry machines filling the silence. Then the hotel intercom clicked. “Room escort requested. Suite 24. Immediate.” Jenna’s eyes lit up. Suite 24 meant status. Meant someone important. She pulled away from him gently. “I have to go.” “You like it when they pick you.” She paused. “It means I’m doing well.” He didn’t argue. What would be the point?