The Bathhouse

Morning crept in slowly, pulling back the veil of night. The fading dew left behind a chill that seeped through every stone and crevice of the house. It greeted every slave who had spent the night in their cold cells—and among them was Theresa.

Unlike the others, who had slept on the bare cement floor, Theresa had found a bit of warmth in her cellmate's cotton cloth. The fireplace remained unlit, making the room even colder, but she was compensated with the extra space on the cloth—space that should have belonged to her absent cellmate.

Janette still hadn't returned since yesterday, and the thought unsettled Theresa. Janette knew her way around, but the fact that she was still gone—especially because of her—was worrying. They had their differences, but they were still cellmates. And Theresa, still new to this place, had no one else to depend on.

After what she'd learned from Thompson yesterday, staying in the house seemed like the best option—at least until she figured out what to do next. With Mr. Johnson out to get her, this was the only place that felt even remotely safe. Now she just needed to find a way to deal with Thompson—she needed leverage, something to keep him from treating her like just another slave.

"Time for your bath," a guard said as he approached the cell, fumbling through a ring of keys to find the right one.

Theresa stirred from where she'd been lying and walked toward the bars. "Can I ask about Janette's whereabouts?" she asked the familiar guard. "She hasn't returned since yesterday."

The man looked up from the cell's lock to the woman he'd almost forgotten shared a space with Janette. She was just as beautiful as he remembered—maybe even more so now. His gaze flicked around the cell, then settled back on the redhead his eyes didn't want to leave.

"Since yesterday?" he asked, more curious to hear her voice again than the answer itself.

Clueless as ever, Theresa nodded. "Yes. After we went for the bath, I had to return alone, and she hasn't shown up since."

The corners of his mouth lifted faintly. Though she was new, he'd assumed Janette would've explained how things worked around here. "She's not in any trouble," he said. "Just handling some of her duties."

"Duties?" she repeated, frowning.

"Yes," he confirmed simply.

There was a pause, before she asked. "Will she be back today?"

"That'll be up to her," he replied, watching her face fall at his words. "Is there something you want me to tell her?"

She shook her head. "No. I was just... worried." And because Janette was the only one here who didn't feel like a complete stranger.

"I'll pass your concern if I get the chance," he offered. "And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll help in any way I can."

Her eyes lit up at those words—words Thompson hadn't even offered her once. "Really? Where would I find you?"

The guard let out a soft laugh at her eagerness.

"Don't worry. I'll come to you instead," he said, turning to leave.

Theresa, still standing by the open entrance, glanced in and out of the cell, torn between waiting for Janette or going for her bath alone. She wasn't sure when—or if—Janette would return. Thompson was nowhere in sight either. She could try finding his office, but he might send her away if she brought up something as trivial as where to bathe. Janette was the only one she could rely on, and her absence left Theresa uneasy.

With a soft sigh, she stepped just outside the cell to get a view beyond. Her cell sat alone at the end of the archway, facing the entrance, while the others lined the sides, facing each other. After one last glance back at the empty cell, she stepped forward—then again, and again—until she was moving with purpose, slipping into the crowd and doing her best not to stand out.

The movement halted when they reached an open area. A man had climbed a short flight of stairs, rising just high enough to look over the crowd and be seen.

"Males this way! Females this way!" he barked, motioning for the slaves to split to either side of him.

Theresa's eyes wandered as she moved with the women. She noticed the tall stone walls lined with guards, all of them watching intently, ready to act at the first sign of disobedience. Her gaze dropped quickly when one of the guards locked eyes with her.

The bathhouse was a wide, open space already filled with women of all ages. Steam hung in the air, rising thickly from the hot water and growing heavier with every passing moment. The women she'd entered with began undressing as they moved to free spots, unbothered by the guards stationed above. The room buzzed with chatter and laughter, punctuated by the sounds of splashing water. Children darted through the steam—some bathing with their mothers, others chasing after friends, their giggles echoing against the walls.

"Marian, come here now!" a woman scolded a young girl who looked to be her daughter. "And where's your sister?" she added, dragging the child along by the arm.

Theresa's gaze followed the pair as they weaved through the steam and noise, stopping at a cluster of women who were washing while chatting amongst themselves. Though still surprised by how different this place felt, she didn't lose sight of why she was here and quickly moved over once a side opened up.

She had no issue undressing in front of other women—it seemed like no one else did—but what unsettled her was the presence of the guards above. They were high up, but not far enough to ignore. She was certain some of them were enjoying the view.

Still, more and more women finished their baths and left, and the thought of being the only one left behind pushed her forward.

Taking a breath, her fingers found the laces at her back, and she let the dress slip to her ankles in a soft heap. Shame crawled over her skin like a cold breeze. But as the steam thickened around her, offering a veil of comfort, she stripped the rest of the way and scooped warm water over her body, letting it glide down her skin.

Her bath was brief. Though there were still a number of women around, Theresa didn't feel comfortable enough to linger. Once done, she changed into a fresh set of clothes, folded her old ones neatly, and stepped away from the bath area.

Like always, she tried not to draw attention to herself. Eyes low, shoulders steady, she moved quietly through the crowd. Her heart lifted slightly when she saw the entrance only a few steps away.

But just as she was about to walk through it, someone yanked her back hard—so hard that she hit the ground.

"Where do you think you're going?" a man's voice snapped.