“This isn’t fair.”

Dag’s complaint echoed up into the rounded ceiling of the Biodome. She lay sprawled upside down across the steps that curved toward the upper level, her hair brushing against the stone, her body coiled like she could somehow escape her skin.

“Life isn’t fair, Dag,” Angharad said softly. Her fingers drifted across the keys of the battered piano before stilling, the other hand resting protectively over the small swell of her pregnant belly, barely visible beneath the thin cotton shift.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t say it,” Dag muttered, rolling onto her side with a scowl.

Capable was seated on the floor, carefully braiding strips of cloth together with restless fingers. She shot Dag a look. “Complaining won’t change anything.”

“It passes the time,” Dag shot back. “Better than staring at the walls like Toast.”

“Better than whining like a child,” Toast said coolly, her arms folded as she leaned against the curve of the bookshelves lining the walls, her sharp eyes never leaving the vault door.

Cheedo shifted nervously where she sat in the middle of the room, small and fidgety like a bird about to take flight. “Don’t fight,” she whispered, her voice tight. “Not now.”

The reason for her unease revealed itself in the next instant: the groaning churn of gears, the heavy clank of locks being released.

The wives froze.

Dag sat bolt upright. Capable’s braid slipped from her hands. Angharad’s fingers tightened on her belly. Cheedo’s breath caught audibly, trembling.

They all knew that sound. The sound of their prison being opened.

“He’s coming,” Cheedo whispered, wide-eyed. “It’s him.”

“Stay together,” Angharad said quickly, though her voice betrayed her own fear.

Their shared dread wasn’t only of Joe’s presence, but of what he might demand. Even here, in their so-called sanctuary, his control followed them. The toothed belts cinched around their waists—grotesque locks of steel and teeth—reminded them constantly of his ownership. It didn’t matter that the room was sealed. They were never truly safe.

The vault door groaned open.

But it wasn’t Joe.

It was Rictus, his enormous frame filling the doorway like a shadow cast by the sun itself. His brutish grin never reached his eyes.

And behind him, half-hidden by his bulk, was a girl.

Young. Barely nineteen, maybe twenty. Around Cheedo’s age.

Rictus gave a grunt, then shoved the girl further into the room before retreating, the old bank vault groaning shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dag leaned against the steps again, though her eyes softened as she watched the new arrival. “Guess we’ll teach her the rules then. Rule one: life’s not fair.”

“Quiet, Dag.” Angharad snapped.