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compounds, one of which I think I’m in now. But the walls and buttresses of those compounds housed sumptuous rooms and art and plumbing. There’s not even a toilet in this cell. I’m forced to go in the corner. The mustiness of the stone overpowers the smell at first, but even the muck of the cell can’t control it forever and now the acrid odour of bile prickles my nostrils. In the dark, the smells are becoming more acute, burning my throat.
    I lie on the floor and try to picture my location. I imagine there is a window in the room and light streams in from the sun. Cormac told me I was being taken to the Western Compound, which houses the largest coventry of Spinsters in Arras and sits on the edge of the Endless Sea, so if I looked out I might see pine trees or maybe the ocean. Even though my hometown of Romen is only a few hours from the ocean, I’ve never travelled outside metro limits. The population of each metro is strictly regulated to ensure the local weave isn’t damaged by excessive change to its structure. That’s why the boundaries of each metro are carefully guarded – for our safety.
    Each of the four sectors has these special compounds, built on the edge of the Endless Sea, that are responsible for keeping Arras functioning. In academy, we were permitted to study a very simple map that outlined the sectors and their capitals. Four perfect triangles of land, surrounded by an ocean that never ceases, and their coventries arranged in perfect symmetry like the points of a cross. But that’s all we were shown. The Guild didn’t want to tempt students to try to travel outside their hometowns. We were taught that if too many people travelled at a time, it could undermine the structural integrity of Arras. So all travelling arrangements have to be pre-approved through proper channels or it wouldn’t be safe, but Spinsters have special border privileges, making them almost as important as businessmen and politicians. It was the one thing that ever appealed to me about becoming a Spinster – being able to see the world – but the idea that I could never return home outweighed the travel perks.
    And there’re not many other perks to being a Spinster, as it turns out. I can’t force myself to pretend there is a window in the cell. Because there is no sun. No clock. No hum of insects. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. I’m starting to wonder if I’m dead. I decide to sleep and not wake up. If this is the afterlife, I should be free from dreams. But no such luck – nightmares continually interrupt my sleep. I lie here, eyes burning in the dark, still trying to adjust, hopelessly, and my mind rages with the injustice.
    And then the door opens and light streams in, blinding me, until my eyes begin to see the dark outlines of the tiny chamber.
    ‘Adelice?’
    Is that my name? I can’t remember.
    ‘Adelice!’ Less timid this time, but still a squeaky yap.
    ‘Take her up to the clinic and rehydrate her. I want her in the salon in an hour.’ The squeaky voice instructs someone I don’t care to see. The voiceless one crosses over to me, boots clicking against the stones, and lifts me casually over his shoulder.
    ‘What a stink. Never thought something so foul could come out of such a tiny thing.’ He laughs. Maybe later he can buy himself a drink to celebrate his cleverness. ‘At least you’re light.’
    I consider reminding him that starving a person has an influence on her weight, but I don’t want to encourage his feeble sense of humour. And I’m too weak to think of something smart to defend myself.
    ‘Are you even old enough to be chosen?’
    I say nothing.
    ‘I know they found you during testing,’ he continues. I begin to count each of his tangled curls. They’re so dark they are almost black, but looking closer I realise his hair is actually brown. He’s not like metro men, who are polished and groomed and chiselled until their jawlines are angular and smooth without a trace of