Phoebe's POV
Nadia shot me a sly look and pointed toward a bed with my nameplate. "There's where you'll be sleeping," she purred, sugar coating her malice.
I looked over at it, my gut clenching. The bed had been crammed into the room's darkest corner, miles from any natural light, where even noon sun couldn't penetrate the gloom. Fresh scuff marks around the base told the story—someone had dragged it there recently, and the name tag looked like it had been slapped on in a hurry.
What really made my blood boil was the garbage scattered across the mattress—three ratty socks with holes you could put your fist through and a pair of stained underwear.
They want to play games, I realized, my teeth grinding together.
Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who orchestrated this little welcome party.
"Is that the new girl?" a voice rang out from the hallway, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Let's go see what she looks like!" another voice joined in, just as thrilled.
